


On My Lips

by Herenya_writes



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: BAMF Nyota Uhura, Bones is a Good Friend, Jim cares about his crew so much, M/M, The Enterprise crew is a family, accidental ashayam, author meant to write spirk and accidentally wrote domestic Enterprise shenanigans, background Chuhura - Freeform, jim is mostly confused, lots of spirk too tho, on this ship we appreciate people's cultures, slow burn because they're idiots, spock panics a lot, tarsus iv trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herenya_writes/pseuds/Herenya_writes
Summary: This time, the sigh that had built in his chest escaped in a soft huff. “Ashayam, this conflict is easily avoidable.” The second the words left his lips, Spock felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. Jim’s face flitted through a half-dozen expressions too quickly for Spock to identify them, but before either of them could say anything, Lieutenant Uhura spoke up.“Hailing frequencies open, Captain.”
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 506
Kudos: 701





	1. The Realization

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the madness! I've been wanting to write a fic with this premise for ages, and I finally got around to doing it. If all goes well, I'll be updating at least once a week, and the fic will probably have 12ish chapters.

It began during a chess game, as so many things seemed to. Jim had been pondering his next move—chin resting in his hand—and studying the multi-leveled board with the same intensity he captained his ship. It was an insignificant moment, one that had occurred at least three times a week for the past twenty-nine months. Yet something that evening was different, and as Jim moved—swiftly capturing Spock’s rook with his knight—Spock could not help but notice how his  _ ashayam’s _ eyes seemed to sparkle with mischievous joy.

And then Spock had frozen, hand hovering five centimeters over the queen he had intended to move out of harm’s way. Jim had asked him what was wrong, and he had swiftly replied that he had merely come to a realization. Jim had assumed he referred to an experiment, and the game had continued.

Spock lost soundly, his mind too distracted to devote energy to outsmarting Jim. He had called the man across the chessboard from him—his friend, his  _ captain _ —‘beloved’. If it had been merely a mistake of his overtaxed mind, it would not have bothered him as much as it did, but in the same instant that his mind had labeled Jim  _ ashayam, _ he had known the sentiment was true. At some point, his regard for his captain had changed from friendship to something much more profound.

He had required an extra fifty-three minutes of meditation before his mind had calmed sufficiently to allow him to rest that night.

The incident had occurred twenty-nine days ago, and since that time, Spock had attempted to limit any repetition of the event and had failed in a way Jim would describe as “spectacular”. His unconscious desire to display his affection was not limited to during chess games or other private moments with Jim he soon discovered. During lunch in the mess hall, in the middle of negotiations on a foreign planet, even in sickbay as Doctor McCoy healed them of their wounds, his mind supplied ‘ _ ashayam’ _ or some other endearment where it had once offered ‘captain’.

Now, he was sitting once more across a chessboard from his  _ ash _ —from his captain.

“You have the first move, Mr. Spock,” Jim said, gesturing to the pieces with a smile. He had changed out of his uniform shirt at some point between when they had both gotten off duty four hours and seventeen minutes ago and was now wearing a burgundy t-shirt. Once, there had been words adorning the front, but time and use had worn them to the point that not even Spock’s eyes could be certain what it said.

He blinked and moved a pawn forward, silently berating himself for being so easily distracted. He had lost the last four chess games they had played, and if he lost again, there was a seventy-two percent probability that Jim would believe that something was amiss and question him until he received an explanation he deemed suitable. And that Spock could not allow.

As often happened, the first twenty-one minutes and forty-four seconds passed in silence as they advanced pieces across all three levels of the board, each deftly skirting the traps the other had set while attempting to construct their own. Eventually, Spock captured one of Jim’s knights, and the man let out a soft huff. Once, Spock might have thought him annoyed, but now he recognized the humor in the small sound.

“I must be off my game tonight,” Jim chuckled as he moved his rook to cover the hole that had just appeared in his defenses. “I thought I was on a winning streak—” Spock had to consciously relax to keep his muscles from tensing at the words— “but I guess all good things must come to an end.”

Spock looked up from the board and was met with a teasing smile. He kept his face impassive as he moved one of his rooks up a level. “All things that begin must come to an end, Captain, regardless of how ‘good’ they are.”

Jim chuckled again as Spock had known he would. It was dangerous to sit here in the comfort of Jim’s companionship when he was so close to losing the very thing he cherished, but he found it was impossible to deny himself the sight of Jim’s smile or the sound of his laugh. It was a dangerous edge he walked, like a piece of cast-off debris floating above a planet’s atmosphere. One stray collision would send him hurtling toward destruction, and yet he couldn’t find the strength to break away.

“Logical as ever, Mr. Spock. Still, I won’t give up my streak that easily.”

“I would expect nothing less,  _ a— _ Captain.”

If Jim noticed his slip-up, he didn’t mention it. Spock moved one of his pawns forward—a few more moves would put it in position to become a queen—and the game continued. The comfortable silence returned and lasted for another seven minutes and nine seconds before Jim broke it once again.

“Are you and Uhura going to perform together at the cultural exchange concert the day after tomorrow?” He asked as he sidestepped a trap Spock had spent the last four moves laying.

Spock resisted the urge to frown at the board as he replied. “We will. Nyota is looking forward to performing for the crew.” He moved his rook up a level.

“And what about you? It’s been a while since you played for the crew. Are you looking forward to it?”

In all fairness, Spock should have anticipated the question. They had been serving together for two years, seven months, and twenty-eight days, and yet Spock was still surprised by the genuine curiosity in his captain’s voice. Jim cared whether or not he enjoyed performing for the crew. It was a small thing, but the voice in the back of his mind whispered  _ ashayam _ and his heart agreed.

“I have always found the cultural performances of other crew members enlightening, and I am honored to share a part of Vulcan culture in return,” he finally settled for saying, his eyes trained on the board as he tried to figure out which piece Jim had moved while he had been distracted.

A quiet laugh broke his concentration once more and he looked up without thinking. Even in the artificial light of the  _ Enterprise _ Jim glowed when he smiled, like a star lived just below his skin and shone out through every pore. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. I’m glad; it’s been a while since we all had a chance to relax a little.”

Spock only dipped his head in response and moved his knight out of harm’s way. The game lasted another fifty-one minutes, during which time they spoke of various things pertaining to the upcoming performance. In the end, Spock won the match, although it was a close thing, and as always Jim offered him a brilliant smile and a clap on the back as he left.

Thirty-seven seconds later, Spock leaned against the closed door of his rooms, a realization settling under his skin. If he did not speak to someone about his...new habit, it would continue to weigh on his mind and eventually affect his efficiency aboard the  _ Enterprise _ , which he could never allow. Nyota. She would understand.

. . .

“So, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, Spock, or are you going to pretend everything’s fine even though you just played the same line twice in a row?”

Spock’s head snapped up at the gentle teasing, a denial on his lips almost before Nyota’s words registered. In the same instant that they did, however, he realized that he had, in fact, played the same line of the piece they were working on twice and had been preparing to do so a third time.

With an almost non-existent sigh, Spock put his lyre down next to the desk that Nyota perched on and straightened in his chair. He had intended to wait to speak with her until after their practice had ended, but he knew denying her now would be pointless. In the years they had spent serving together, she had become one of his closest friends—he no longer felt any shame applying the term to the members of the  _ Enterprise _ crew he had grown close to—and she could read him better than anyone else aboard.

“I...have recently come to a realization,” he stated stiffly, hands folded in his lap and gaze fixed on a point just above Nyota’s left shoulder. “It is personal in nature, but I…” His words trailed away, and he resisted the urge to sigh once more.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Nyota’s face soften into an expression of understanding. “I’m here to listen if you want me to, or we can go back to practicing,” she offered.

For a moment, Spock considered the latter option, but then he remembered the imbalance that had seemed to follow him since the previous night’s chess game. “I believe it would be beneficial to ‘get this off my chest’ as Doctor McCoy is so fond of suggesting.” Nyota nodded, and although her smile had faded, her expression was still openly accepting of whatever it was he had to say. 

“Thirty days ago, I became aware of a...shift in my regard for someone. They do not know of my affections, nor do I intend to inform them, but there is a possibility that this change will affect our working relationship.”

“Which you don’t want.”

Spock inclined his head, eyes shifting back to Nyota’s face. “That is correct.”

She nodded and was quiet for several moments. Spock watched as her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly before smoothing back out again, and he knew she had reached a conclusion of some kind. “You don’t have to answer this,” she said slowly, “but is it the captain?”

“Yes.” The word escaped him as little more than a whisper, and his head dropped. It was an emotional display, he knew, but he found here in Nyota’s quarters—four degrees warmer than they unusually were to account for his biology—he did not care. 

“May I ask what happened for you to realize something had changed?”

Spock took a breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the spot where the corner of the desk met the floor. “I called him  _ ashayam _ in my mind,” he said. “There was a time when I looked at him and thought only ‘Captain’, then ‘Jim’, and now this.”

After forty-seven seconds had passed and Nyota still had not spoken, he looked back up to find a soft smile curling her lips. He frowned, his hands clenching in his lap. “I do not see how this is a source of amusement,” he stated. 

Instantly, Nyota’s smile fell and she shook her head. “I’m not laughing at you, Spock,” she assured. “It’s just that I think the two of you would make a good couple.”

Spock could only blink. Nyota thought him a match for Jim? Their captain? In what universe could someone like Jim, someone so bold, so charismatic, so  _ open _ , find happiness with someone like  _ him _ ? To say so would be to equate a candle to a supernova.

Nyota seemed to read his incredulity. “I’m serious. You two are more alike than you think, and you balance each other well.” Spock raised an eyebrow and Nyota sighed. “So you aren’t going to tell Jim about your new discovery?”

“I am not.”

Nyota nodded exasperation and understanding warring on her face. “I think you should, but it’s your life, Spock. Just know I’m here if you need anything.”

Spock dipped his head. “Thank you, Nyota.”

. . .

Jim signed the last of the PADDs and handed it back to Rand. "Thank you. Is there anything else that needs my immediate attention?" he asked, privately hoping that there wasn't. He was supposed to meet Bones for dinner tonight, and he was already five minutes late. If he canceled on the doctor again, there was a very good chance a physical would appear sometime in his near future.

Rand smiled knowingly. "No, sir. The quartermaster said they'll have your new shirts ready sometime this evening, but I can make sure they're put in your quarters."

A grimace crossed Jim's face as he remembered his last conversation with the quartermaster of the  _ Enterprise _ . They were a level-headed person, but that hadn't stopped them from nearly taking his head off when he had put in a request for new uniform shirts. Again. He had tried to tell them that it wasn't his fault the fabric ripped so easily, but he doubted they believed him. If he stayed for drinks with Bones after dinner it would give the quartermaster time to replace his shirts while he was gone...

"Thank you, yeoman."

She nodded and then left his quarters, easily balancing the half-dozen PADDs she held. Once the door closed behind her, Jim rose from his desk—joints popping—and grabbed his personal PADD. He typed out a quick message to Bones to let him know he was on his way and then left, humming softly to himself. 

He passed a number of crewmen in the halls, but no one stopped him, which he was grateful for. Some days he couldn't make it twenty feet without a PADD being shoved into his hands or a crewmember dragging him into a lab to look at some new experiment that was being run. He didn't mind those interruptions—he wanted his crew to know he was available whenever they needed him, that he was interested in the day-to-day operations of his ship—but right now he just wanted to collapse in a chair and not have to think about the ship.

Sickbay was empty when he walked in, save for a young ensign laying in the bed furthest from the door. Bones had mentioned something about one of the crewmembers needing a minor surgery yesterday. Jim thought about stopping by the bed to check on her, but the woman appeared to be sleeping, so he made his way to Bones' office instead, stomach growling. The door slid open as he approached, and he stepped inside.

"There you are. I wasn't sure if you were going to show up this time," Bones grouched from where he sat behind his desk. Next to his computer screen nestled between several piles of data chips and PADDs were two plates of pork chops and heaping piles of mashed potatoes as well as two glasses of water. Those certainly weren’t on either of their diet plans, but Jim wasn’t going to complain.

"I sent you a message a few minutes ago saying I was on my way," he said as he sat down and pulled one of the plates toward himself, breathing in the smell. Stars, it had been  _ ages _ since he had mashed potatoes. 

Bones snorted. "Does it look like I got it? My personal PADD's buried under there somewhere." He gestured to the stack closest to the screen. "I've been going through the backlog of medical journals and crew physicals for the past three hours."

"Why?" Jim asked around a spoonful of potatoes. He and Bones had been friends long enough that he didn't feel the need to obey table manners with him, especially since they never ate at an actual table together. He wasn't convinced Bones ever left Sickbay except to shower and sleep, and he wasn't certain about the sleeping bit. He had caught his friend passed out on a biobed more than once.

Bones finally put down the PADD he was holding and picked up his fork. "Because, Jim, this is the first stretch of calm this ship has had in a while, and I'm gonna get some work done while I still can. Next thing I know, we could have a breakout of Rigellian measles on board or some other alien plague."

Jim shook his head with a grin. "Well, we've got to keep you on your toes somehow, Bones. Besides, don't you have medical staff for this kind of thing?" Bones didn't answer, which was answer enough. The two of them were alike in a lot of ways, and their need to see things done personally was one of those ways and it made for lots of long nights. 

They settled into a comfortable silence as they ate, commenting every now and then on something that had happened on the Bridge or in Sickbay during the day that the other had missed. Eventually, both plates were empty, and Bones reached under his desk and pulled out a bottle and two glasses.

"Are you going to the concert tomorrow?" Jim asked as he watched the amber liquid pour into his glass. "Everyone from the Alpha Bridge crew is performing."

"Including yourself?" he asked, setting the bottle back on the desk.

Jim chuckled and shook his head. "Not unless they want a dramatic poetry reading," he replied, clinking his glass against his friend's and taking a sip. "But everyone else is, including Spock."

Bones took a long sip. "Mm. He doing a duet with Uhura?"

"Yeah, and a solo. Scotty's playing his bagpipes, Chekov's singing some Russian folk songs, and I think Sulu's playing some kind of percussion solo."

Bones frowned. "Percussion solo?"

"I'm fairly certain there are plants involved. Spock tried to explain it to me over chess a few days ago, but I got distracted. It's safe though."

"Only on this ship would you have to double-check a musical performance to make sure it was safe," Bones declared with a snort. "M'Benga's got Sickbay covered tomorrow evening, though, so I'll be there."

Jim nodded and leaned back a little more into his seat, letting the last of the tension left over from the day drain away. "Have you gotten anything from Joanna recently?" he asked, and they spent the next two hours talking about Bones' daughter and the plans he had made with her for the next time they were on Earth.

Eventually, Jim stood. "Thanks for dinner and the drink, Bones," he said, stepping around the desk to give his friend a brief hug. "Try to remember to sleep sometime tonight."

"You're a goddamn hypocrite, you know that, Jim?" Bones muttered into his shoulder but his arms were tight around Jim’s waist.

Jim laughed as he pulled away. "Maybe. Perks of being the captain, you know." That earned him a light slap on his arm, but there was a smile pulling at the corner of Bones' mouth, so he counted it as a win. "See you tomorrow."


	2. Accidental Ashayam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an ordinary day on the Enterprise—all-powerful beings, crew rotations, and accidentally calling the captain ashayam on the bridge in front of everyone. An ordinary day indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very tired and this chapter is not beta'd. If there are any glaringly obvious mistakes, please feel free to let me know. That said, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The sound of his door chime drew Spock from his morning meditation—a short session he often utilized to recall information that would be pertinent to the day's work and resolve any anomalies leftover from the previous night. He rose and extinguished his incense and candle before calling, "Enter."

The door slid open to reveal Nyota, PADD in one hand. "Did I interrupt your meditation?" she asked, stepping just far enough into the room for the door to close behind her. "I know it's a little earlier than usual, but I figured you'd be ready. I just dropped by to ask if you wanted to join Sulu, Chekov, and I for breakfast in the officers' mess."

"My meditation was nearly complete," he replied honestly, hands coming to rest behind him. "If you are willing to wait approximately two minutes and twenty-six seconds, I will depart with you."

Uhura smiled in response and leaned against the wall beside his door to wait. He stepped to his closet and pulled out a fresh uniform before making his way to the 'fresher to change. He locked both doors out of instinct, although he knew Jim had left his quarters thirty-seven minutes ago.

There was a smile on Nyota's face when he returned, but she didn't say anything as she led them both from his room and down the hall to the turbolift. Two ensigns were inside, busily discussing the experiments currently taking place in Lab 7 when they stepped in and did not seem to register their presence until the lift stopped again and they exited.

The mess was busy when he and Nyota walked in, sounds of discussion and utensils clinking against plates and bowls coming from all corners of the room. Nyota waved to Chekov and Sulu who were already eating before stepping up to one of the replicators. Spock did the same, and a few minutes later, they were sitting across from Chekov and Sulu who were arguing about the merits of hands-on navigational training for Starfleet cadets.

"Hands-on training is fine, Pavel, but not when you're in space and capable of traveling at warp speed into the nearest star," Sulu exclaimed as they took their seats.

"You worry too much, Hikaru," Chekov shrugged, gesturing with his spoon as he spoke. "Besides, I am sure you could put in safety measures to prevent that from happening. Or do the exercises in a mostly empty quadrant." 

"You want to put a cadet in empty space and tell them to have at it? I don't want to be on that ship. I trained with simulators until my final test at the Academy, and I aced it."

Chekov frowned and turned to Spock. "What do you think, Mr. Spock? Should third and fourth-year navigation cadets be allowed to pilot a starship?"

Spock swallowed a bite of his krei'la before saying, "I believe that cadets who have achieved high enough rankings on the simulations should be allowed the 'hands-on' experience of piloting a starship—"

"Ha! I told you, Hikaru."

"However," Spock continued, "I believe such training should be carefully guided and performed under strict parameters." 

It was Sulu’s turn to grin now, but whatever it was he was planning to say was cut off as the doors to the mess opened once more and Jim and Doctor McCoy walked in. Jim was gesturing widely as he spoke, eyes sparkling at the disgruntled expression on the doctor’s face. The pair stepped past their table toward the replicators, Jim shooting them a grin as he did so. Despite the fact that the expression was intended for the entire group, Spock felt his heart stutter in his side. He caught Nyota’s eye, and she grinned knowingly.

Sulu and Chekov returned to their conversation, but Spock hardly heard them, his attention focused on his  _ a _ —his captain. There were dark circles under Jim’s eyes, but his movements were as energetic as ever. He made a mental note to ensure that the captain's workload was as light as possible over the next few days—it was vital that Jim receive adequate rest. 

A gentle nudge against his foot snapped Spock’s attention back to the table where he sat and its occupants. Sulu and Chekov had changed topics to a navigation system currently undergoing field testing, so he turned to Nyota and raised an eyebrow. 

“Is the captain going to be at the concert tonight?” she asked, an odd inflection in her voice.

“He has stated his intention to do so.”

A smile slipped across her face. “Good.” Before Spock could question what bearing their captain’s presence had on the performance, Jim and Doctor McCoy sat, occupying the last two open seats at the table. The doctor sat beside Sulu, leaving Jim to settle in the chair to Spock’s right.

“‘Morning, all,” Jim greeted, smiling widely. “Have you been keeping up with the Sorel-nav system, Sulu? It’s being tested on the  _ Korolev _ , isn’t it?”

“Aye, Captain,” he replied, an eager grin on his face. “The  _ Korolev’s _ helmsman’s been posting her reports for the past couple of weeks, and it seems to be running smoothly. They’re taking her closer to the edge of Federation space next week to see how well the system runs in less-charted areas.”

Jim nodded. “Good, good. Command hopes to put the Sorel-nav in all the new starships beginning next year, so this data should make them happy.”

The conversation turned to other upgrades that Command had planned, specifically those that would be added to the  _ Enterprise _ the next time the ship was at an adequately-staffed starbase. Fifteen minutes later, they had finished eating and disposed of their trays. The group stepped into the hallway, and Spock was about to enter the turbolift when a light touch on his shoulder stopped him. 

“Stay a moment, Spock?” Jim asked, and Spock nodded, allowing Nyota to step past him and into the lift. Once the doors slid closed Jim turned and strode a few paces down the hallway. Spock followed and they came to a stop just past the doors to the mess hall.

“Have you seen Ensign Silva’s request to transfer to the science division?” Jim asked.

“I have,” he said, falling into an easy parade rest. “I had intended to discuss the transfer with her commanding officer tomorrow. She seems a promising candidate for the science department and took extensive training in xenobiology during her time at the Academy.”

“But she was command track.”

“Indeed. She has overseen a portion of the First Contact research for the past seven planets we have visited, and her knowledge of both xenobiology and command procedures has been valuable."

Jim nodded slowly. "Too valuable to move her to sciences full time?" he asked after a moment.

"I do not believe so, Captain, although I do not have the appropriate data to be certain."

Jim hummed. “What if she shadowed someone in the department for a week or so? She could be given a few tasks but still have access to people who can help her adjust to the change while we see if it's a good fit for her." Jim had crossed his arms in front of himself and now leaned against the wall, brow furrowing in thought. "Lieutenant Yahontov, maybe?"

On any other starship, this conversation would likely never happen, and if it did, it would not include the captain, but this was the Enterprise, and Jim Kirk was not an ordinary captain. There were times, Spock knew, when Jim felt out of touch with his ship and its day-to-day operations, times when the admiralty or latest crisis took too much of his attention. His crew knew the truth, however, and it was evident in the respect they all held for their captain.

"He would be a logical choice," Spock said, inclining his head slightly. "I will contact him after his shift has ended today."

Jim's face brightened into a smile. "Thank you, Spock, I can always count on you. Let me know what you and Yahontov decide, alright?"

"Of course, a—Captain." Spock had to resist the instinct to tense his shoulders at his near-miss. Something as mundane as discussing department transfers with his captain shouldn't cause such affection to well within him, and yet he could not deny the warm satisfaction that seemed to blanket his mind as Jim squeezed his shoulder briefly before stepping toward the turbolift. He followed silently, listening with half an ear as Jim good-naturedly complained about the reports he had to look over and sign during his shift today.

The bridge was calm when they arrived and they both took their places with ease, Sulu rising from the captain's chair to return to the helm. Before long, the bridge was alive with the sound of Chekov and Sulu arguing, people moving from station to station, Nyota humming the song she would be singing that night, and Jim murmuring under his breath as he looked over reports. The noise had bothered him once—a sign of just how human his fellow crew members were—but now it was almost comforting in its familiarity.

92.7 percent of Spock's focus remained on his station, as it was both his duty and privilege to oversee the star charting that they were doing in this sector. The remaining 7.3 percent, however, was largely focused on attempting to determine the impact of his Realization—he capitalized the word in his mind, an illogical decision but one that seemed to reflect the magnitude of the event appropriately—on his daily interactions with Jim.

His first instinct was to insist that he would be able to function as he always had, but various experiences over the past several days proved that he could not. Jim had not seemed to notice yet, but the man did not get to be a captain so young by being oblivious. Sooner or later, Jim would realize that something had changed, and he would confront Spock as he so often did.

And when the inevitable confrontation came? What would he do then?

A small voice in the back of Spock's mind whispered that he should withdraw himself from Jim. It would be easy to do, on a starship as large as the Enterprise. He could change his shifts so that he worked when Jim slept, could distance himself from landing parties the captain was present on, could cancel their chess meetings and spend more time in the labs personally overseeing the experiments there. But he would not. He would not, because even imagining such hypothetical scenarios sent his heart clenching in his side. It took a negligible amount of effort to imagine the hurt and betrayal on Jim's face, and it was an expression Spock would rather die than see.

But what of rejection? Could he bear to see Jim's features twist to disgust as he realized that Spock had tainted their friendship with unwanted romantic regard? He doubted he would be able to withstand such a blow. 

A blinking anomaly on his screen pulled him from his inner turmoil. The area of space they were currently charting was home mostly to stars in the middle of their life cycle, and yet his scanner showed an object giving off an extraordinary amount of power—an amount far closer to a star approaching supernova. It was not in a position to cause the Enterprise any harm, and he was about to make note of it in his digital log when it began to move at a speed nearly twice that of the Enterprise, on a heading that would intercept with the ship.

"Captain." Jim looked up. His lips were curled in their typical easy smile, but they hardened into a firm line as Spock said, "there is an object traveling toward us at warp 5.5, and it is displaying energy readings exceeding one times ten to the thirty-second gigajoules."

"Shields up, go to yellow alert," Jim barked instantly, and the bridge came to life as people jumped to obey his orders. "What else do we know about it, Spock?"

"Its velocity has decreased, captain. It is now traveling toward us at warp four. It appears to be roughly the size of Earth. The power levels are making it difficult to achieve accurate sensor readings, but it appears to be synthetic in nature."

"Synthetic? You mean like a ship?" Jim asked, disbelief coloring his words as his hands tightened on the armrests.

Spock met Jim's eyes. "Perhaps. I cannot detect any lifeforms through the energy output."

"Understood. Uhura, send out the universal message of peace and goodwill across all channels. I don't want to come off on the wrong foot against something that massive."

"Aye, captain, transmitting across all frequencies."

Spock bent back over his scanner. "Energy readings have decreased to one hundred billion gigajoules, Captain," he reported. "The object will reach us in 52.35 seconds." Despite the significant threat the anomaly could pose to the  _ Enterprise _ , Spock couldn't help the curiosity that welled within him. What was this object made of that it could withstand such high amounts of energy followed by such a drastic decrease? 

"Any response, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing, Captain."

"Keep hailing them. Chekov, put the object on the main viewer."

"Aye, Captain, coming on the main viewer now, sir."

The screen flickered for an instant before stabilizing. In the distance, there appeared to be a bright speck of light, rapidly approaching them. Soon it filled nearly the entire screen, an orb of pulsing orange and yellow, not unlike the star that Earth orbited on a much smaller, denser scale. Then, the object stopped. 

There was silence. One second. Two. Thr—the communication panel in front of Uhura began to blink rapidly. "Captain, we're being hailed."

"Put it on screen, Lieutenant," Jim ordered, and Spock instinctively took the few steps that placed him at his captain's side.

The viewscreen flickered once again, and the nearly overwhelming light of the object faded, replaced instead by near pitch-black, a single beam of light providing illumination. "Greetings," Jim said, standing from his chair and stepping forward. "I am Captain James T. Kirk of the U—"

"You have trespassed into Dakk space, lightless ones," the being of light interrupted, their voice reminiscent of metal scraping across stone. "Vacate this sector. You have four minutes, and then I will be forced to render your vessel inoperable, and you will perish. I am—" the being's voice turned to a high-pitched whistle, and a headache bloomed to life behind Spock's eyes—"and I have spoken."

Silence fell over the bridge as the viewscreen flickered off. It lasted for several moments, tense and colored with the anxiety of the bridge crew until Jim turned in his seat and locked eyes with Spock. “Well,” he said, grinning despite the gravity of the situation, “I think that went well, all things considered.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, hands folded behind his back. “The Dakk have threatened to render the Enterprise entirely inoperable if we do not vacate this sector in the next four minutes, Captain.”

Jim’s easy grin only widened. “But whatever fancy weapon they have, they haven’t used it yet.”

A sigh began to build in Spock’s chest, but he pushed it down. He knew without asking that Jim would not order the Enterprise to retreat until he was able to speak to the Dakk at least once more. 

As if Jim had read his mind, he turned in his chair and said, “Lieutenant Uhura, see if you can hail them again. I’m certain we can work something out.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said, fingers already flying over the instruments in front of her. ”The frequencies they use don’t match our instruments, so this will take a minute.”

“Understood.”

They now had three minutes and thirty-two seconds left. “Captain, perhaps it would be prudent to retreat while the Lieutenant establishes communications. Negotiations are more likely to succeed when performed in neutral territory.”

“Worried, Mr. Spock?” Jim asked, his eyes shining. 

“Negative, Captain. Nevertheless, it is logical to retreat until we can gather more data about our opponents. We know very little about the Dakk, and the power output that their vessel is capable of suggests that they are able to follow through on their threat.”

“You might be right, Commander, but even if they are capable of turning the Enterprise into a floating tin can I doubt they’ll do it.”

This time, the sigh that had built in his chest escaped in a soft huff. “ _Ashayam_ , this conflict is easily avoidable.” The second the words left his lips, Spock felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. Jim’s face flitted through a half-dozen expressions too quickly for Spock to identify them, but before either of them could say anything, Lieutenant Uhura spoke up.

“Hailing frequencies open, Captain.”

Jim held his gaze for another beat before turning back to the front of the bridge. “Thank you, Lieutenant. On-screen.” 

Spock's eyes turned to the viewscreen, drawn more by the sudden illumination than by any conscious command. His mind spun with the implications of his mistake, but he shoved those thoughts down as the being of light came into focus. He was a Starfleet officer—he would not be so easily distracted from his duties.

"What do you want, lightless ones?" the being asked in their rough voice. They had no facial features by which to judge their emotions or anticipate their responses, but Jim seemed unfazed, back straight as he stepped forward.

"Peace," he answered simply. "We come from the United Federation of Planets, and we are on a mission of discovery and goodwill."

"The Dakk have no need for your Federation."

Jim bowed his head gracefully. "We’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. Our purpose in this sector is to chart the stars here to learn about them and make travel safe for other members of our Federation. May we continue in our mission?"

The being seemed to think for a moment, humming long and high as they did so. "Very well. Put it on your maps, lightless one, that this is the territory of the Dakk. You may travel as you please, but any interference or attempts to establish a permanent presence here will not be tolerated."

"Thank you. The Federation will honor your wishes," Jim promised, and even as Spock's mind spiraled further and further out of control he could not help but wonder at the ease with which Jim faced and conquered the unknown.

The view screen went dark, and Jim collapsed into the captain's chair with a loud sigh of relief. He tilted his head up and to the side, an easy grin spreading across his face. "See, Spock, I told you it would turn out fine."

"Indeed, captain," he replied, careful to keep the turmoil in his mind from reaching his voice. Jim’s eyes sparkled.

"Resume course, Mister Sulu. Uhura, did the computers record all of that conversation?" As Nyota responded in the affirmative and Jim ordered the recording analyzed and sent to Starfleet, Spock stepped back to his station. He felt Nyota's eyes on him, but he ignored her, illogically hoping that if he did not acknowledge his mistake, they would not either.

The muscles in his back and shoulders remained tense for the duration of his shift, despite his efforts to relax them. Every time Jim spoke, he expected the words to be directed at him: for the captain to demand a translation of the word, an explanation for his unprofessional behavior. But the words he dreaded never came, and when the clock ticked into the next shift he quietly exited the bridge as Jim discussed the reports he had signed with his yeoman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic music plays* Poor poor Spocko...
> 
> As always, I absolutely adore comments (I swear the ones I got this week are the only thing that got me through the last few days). Thank you for reading!


	3. The Language of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you can tell the author is a musician and the Enterprise crew gets to share their cultures through musical performances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it, but that might just be because I find it easy to project onto music and characters playing...

Jim handed his final PADD to his yeoman and stood from his chair, back popping. Turning to the side, he opened his mouth to invite Spock to go a few rounds in the gym, and promptly closed it again. The man standing at the scanner was dressed in Science blues, but he wasn’t Spock. 

He stepped into the turbolift, a frown pulling at his lips. Spock almost always lingered on the bridge after his shift overseeing the shift change and waiting for Jim to finish any lingering tasks. In fact, now that he thought about it, Spock had been distant since the encounter with the Dakk. Jim had assumed it was because he was busy analyzing the data they had gotten from the vessel, but what if it was something else?

The turbolift came to a stop, and Jim made his way down the hall to his rooms to change into something more appropriate for the gym.

Spock had called him something on the bridge today in Vulcan. Could that be the reason his First Officer was withdrawn? Spock had never slipped into Vulcan while on duty before, but the situation on the bridge had been stressful, and Jim would readily admit that he had been going on a hunch when he called the Dakk’s bluff, a trait he knew his First was less than fond of. Honestly, it was surprising it hadn’t happened before. Had it really bothered Spock that much? Uhura and Chekov had both called him ‘captain’ in their native languages before on the bridge, and he hadn’t minded.

Jim pulled on an old t-shirt and his workout pants before sitting on the edge of his bed to pull on his running shoes.

Maybe he was reading too much into Spock’s quick departure. The concert was tonight, after all, and Jim would bet a bottle of Romulan ale that Spock would go over the music at least a few more times despite the fact that he doubtlessly had it memorized to perfection. Plus he had said he was going to get in touch with Lieutenant Yahontov today, and it was only logical to do so as soon as possible.

He nodded to himself. He was exaggerating Spock’s response to a simple slip-up. And if it turned out that he wasn’t, it didn’t matter. He knew his friend hated to make mistakes, and so he wouldn’t mention it—things would go back to normal soon enough. Decision made, he stepped to the door, a small smile playing on his lips.

It was such a simple thing, trading one word for its twin in another language, but it made the Vulcan seem so much more...real. Less ephemeral, untouchable. And it had sounded beautiful falling from Spock’s lips.

. . .

Music filled Spock's quarters, long repeated notes that hung heavy in the air as he played. On Vulcan, music was considered one of the most logical arts as it was full of patterns and could be performed with near-mathematical precision. And because it was a safe outlet for emotion. Despite the claims of many of his people—and at times himself—emotions ran deep in his race, and music was a way to give them a voice without allowing them to usurp logic. And so Spock played, fingers moving to pluck the strings in a rhythm that seemed drawn from his soul.

At first, he had attempted to calm his mind by practicing the pieces he would be playing at the concert tonight. He had completed only a single play-through, however, before he had begun to play from his heart instead of his mind.

The repeated motions calmed him somewhat, shaping the edges of his turmoil into something more defined. His heart still beat too quickly in his side, and he used the pulse to mark his eighth notes, forcing it to slow further. Steadily, a more complicated rhythm began to emerge, his fingers flitting between the strings as his mind flitted between thoughts.

Jim had noticed his mistake and his quick departure from the bridge, he was certain, and yet the man had not said anything nor sought him out. Was that because he did not deem the incident important enough to remark on? The look in his eyes had seemed to suggest differently, but Spock could not claim to know the intricacies of his  _ asha _ —his captain's mind. Perhaps he had forgotten, in the adrenaline of yet another successful encounter with the unknown. Spock hesitated to count on this possibility.

Or perhaps Jim had taken note and had looked up the word in the computer database and now knew the truth. If so, why had he not sought him out? Did he wish to let Spock believe the incident was forgotten and thus spare his friend the gentle rejection that a confrontation would result in? 

Spock chafed at the lack of answers, and he had to force his fingers to slow their movements on his lyre, bringing the music back to something more subtle than the agitated tempo that had begun to take hold. He played for several minutes, allowing his mind to empty save for the notes that filled the air, his breath and heartbeat evening.

He opened his eyes, unaware of when he had closed them. A small part of him urged action—he should find Jim and inform him of the nature of his mistake and accept his reaction, whatever that may be. He schooled that impulse. As he so often did, he would allow Jim to lead. If his  _ ashayam _ sought him out he would withhold nothing, but there was no logic in ruining a friendship that could yet be salvaged.

The last note faded out as he reached his decision, and he carefully set the lyre aside and crossed the room to pick up his PADD. He had four hours and seventeen minutes before the concert began, three hours and two minutes before his final rehearsal with Nyota. That allowed him time to speak with Lieutenant Yahontov, review the reports of the encounter with the Dakk, and ascertain the progress of the Lab 7 experiments. 

He took a steadying breath and turned on his PADD.

. . .

The rec room that had been set aside for the performances tonight was alive with quiet murmurs and laughter when Jim stepped inside. He had meant to be here a quarter of an hour ago, but he had run into Ensign Silva in the hallway and stopped to let her know that she would be shadowing Lieutenant Yahontov starting next week. Her eyes had lit up the second he told her, and he had listened with a smile as she explained the experiments that she was hoping to be a part of once her assignment was official. They were difficult concepts that she wanted to explore, but Jim had encouraged her enthusiasm. Where better to tackle the unknown than the flagship of Starfleet?

Jim waved to a few crewmembers as the door closed behind him.The typical open-layout of the room had been shifted sometime during alpha shift to create an open area on the wall opposite the entrance with four rows of chairs situated facing it. Temporary walls had been erected in one corner of the room, creating a small space for the performers to wait. He took a seat in a chair on the edge of the front row so he could slip out if need be but was still close enough to enjoy the performances. Right now Chekov was in the center of the stage, double and triple-checking the sound system to make sure it was working. In all honesty, the room was small enough that the system probably wasn’t necessary, but Chekov had been experimenting with this one for months and was eager to try it out.

He glanced around the room as people began to move to their seats and saw Bones in the corner talking with one of the engineers from Beta shift. Their conversation seemed to fade out, and he motioned for his friend to join him.

“I hope you’ve got a plan of how you’re going to make this up to M’Benga,” Jim said with a wide grin as Bones sat in the chair next to him. 

Bones nodded, shifting in his chair until he was comfortable. “I’m covering an extra shift for him next week so that he can watch the Taekwondo tournament.”

“I had forgotten about that. Do you know if—” Jim cut himself off as the lights in the room dimmed, and Uhura stepped to the middle of the stage.

“Pavel says the sound system’s good, so we’ll get started,” she said, smiling brilliantly. “Questions about what the different pieces mean to our cultures will be answered after all of the performances. This is going to be very informal, but if you could hold your applause until the end of each performance, we’d appreciate it.” Uhura fixed her gaze on a young ensign in the middle row, who blushed nearly as dark as the red uniform he wore. His friends nudged him and laughed, and Uhura carried on. “Alright, Pavel Chekov is performing first, and we’ll just move from performance to performance after him. Thanks for coming and sharing cultures with us!”

Uhura disappeared into the temporary room, and Chekov stepped onto the stage. The young man flashed a wide smile at the crowd, all teeth and eagerness, before grabbing the microphone and pressing a button on the side. Music began to flow from the speakers overhead and in the walls, several stringed instruments playing a lively tune. Jim didn’t recognize the instruments, but they sounded wonderful.

A few seconds later, Chekov began to sing, the Russian words sounding perfectly natural on his lips. The universal translators had been turned off for the performance, so Jim didn’t know what most of the words Chekov was singing meant, but he smiled anyway. It was easy to see from the way the young man moved to the music and sang, eyes closed, that whatever the song was about meant something to him. 

A few minutes later, the last note faded—Chekov had held it for an impressively long time, his voice much clearer than Jim had expected—and the room broke into happy applause. Chekov took a grinning bow, nearly knocking the microphone stand over as he did so. He blushed and quickly righted it before exiting the stage to sit in the crowd and cheer on the rest of the bridge crew.

Next was Uhura. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw a couple of crewmembers lean forward in the seats, excited grins decorating more than a few faces. It was well known across the ship that Uhura had a wonderful voice, and it was almost equally known that when she sang in Swahili that voice took on an almost enchanting quality.

Unlike Chekov, Uhura stayed in the center of the stage, moving only to turn the microphone off. For a long moment, she stood still, commanding the silence of the room, and then she began to slowly sway, clapping her hands to a beat only she could hear. The tempo picked up, and soon she added her voice to the percussion of her hands and feet. Her voice rose and fell, drawing Jim with it. 

He didn’t realize he was swaying in his seat until Bones swatted him on the arm. He grinned and turned his attention back to Uhura. Pure joy seemed to radiate out from her, filling the rec room as she sang.

Her song ended with a final clap that resonated through the room and seemed to hang in the air for several seconds after the sound had faded. Then, as if some invisible barrier had been broken, the room erupted into applause and shouts of praise. Jim added his voice to the mix, grinning widely as Uhura bowed. Instead of moving off the stage, however, she simply stepped over as Spock walked out, carrying a chair in one hand and his lyre in the other. 

As they set up for their duet, which would be sung in Federation Standard but include elements of both of their cultures according to what Spock had told him over chess, Jim made a mental note to allow civilian apparel at the next performance. Seeing people connect with and share their cultures while dressed in their uniforms was wonderful—and matched the spirit of the Federation very well, a small voice that sounded like an odd agglomeration of different admirals’ voices said in the back of his mind—but it wasn’t the same. Jim wanted to let people celebrate their culture through their dress as well as their music. And Spock so rarely got the chance to wear his Vulcan robes.

After a few moments of positioning, Spock took a seat in the chair with Uhura standing behind his shoulder. Quiet fell again, and Jim watched Spock flex his fingers before slowly bringing them to his lyre and plucking the first few notes. The tempo was sharp and the notes high, and Jim saw red sands shift in his mind's eye. 

He would have to go back to Vulcan again sometime with Spock when neither of them were on duty or in danger of dying. Spock could show him his home, and Jim would be able to experience his friend's culture for himself, would be able to take the time to learn about it and appreciate it the way he hadn't been able to yet. What would it be like, he wondered, to stroll down the streets of Shir’Kahr at Spock's side?

His musings were cut off by a run of notes in rapid succession, drawing Jim's attention once more to the agile way Spock's fingers seemed to float across the strings. He played another run, lower this time, and then Uhura's voice joined him. 

It was beautiful.

Uhura's voice, full and rich, complimented Spock's playing perfectly, and as her voice rose in a swelling note, Spock's fingers danced in a complicated countermelody. This was the point of it all—the exploring, the First Contacts, the effort to make allies in nearly every race they encountered. It was so that things like this could happen, so that two people of vastly different backgrounds could come together and make something new without forgetting where their roots.

So many people feared what cooperation with other races and cultures would do to their own, but this here—his ship, his crew—was living and breathing proof that the whole could be greater than the sum of its parts. They had the opportunity to share the best parts of humanity and learn from the best parts of everyone else, and there were people who would reject that! Well, those people had never seen Spock, face the closest thing to serene Jim had ever seen, move his fingers across the strings of his lyre while Uhura sang at his shoulder, her entire body swaying as she poured her soul into a song of homecoming.

Jim stared, transfixed, at the pair, and wondered how he had been blessed enough to be the captain of such extraordinary people.

All too soon, Spock's finger's stilled on his lyre and a few beats later, Uhura's voice faded out of the last note. The two shared a glance, the corner of Spock's lips lifting just a fraction as Uhura smiled blindingly and then bowed to the audience who burst into applause. 

It was a solid minute before the clapping died down and Uhura took a seat in the audience, her part in the performances over. From his peripheral vision, Jim saw a number of people lean over and whisper in her ear, and from the way she seemed to glow, he knew they were words of praise. Good. She certainly deserved it.

The sound of a single soft note snapped his attention back to the stage like a rubber band, and he grinned sheepishly. He should have known Spock wouldn't wait until everyone's attention was on him to start, that wasn't his style. He plucked a second note from the lyre, and the quiet murmurs that remained fell away.

Jim had heard a few measures of this piece before, drifting through the open 'fresher doors when he was sitting at his desk doing reports and Spock was practicing, but this was something else. Before, it had been mathematical in its execution, and this...wasn't that. He frowned softly and leaned forward, closing his eyes to focus on the sound.

It was lovely. Where his and Uhura's duet was stong and lively, this was gentle and almost melancholic, the notes lingering on the air, overlapping enough to give the music only a vague shape. Jim had never paid much attention the few music appreciation/theory classes he had taken—in fact, he had only really started learning about music theory when he had found out how many of his crew members were musically gifted—but he knew somehow that there was something incredibly complicated about the music that seemed to drift through the room, despite its slow nature.

All of a sudden three staccato notes pierced the air, and Jim's eyes snapped open. He blinked, confused by the change, and looked up to see Spock's eyes boring into him. There was something unreadable in the Vulcan's expression. The tempo continued to increase, and the notes rose in volume and pitch, still beautiful but piercing.

Jim saw the red sands of Vulcan again, shifting and roiling under his feet. He felt the heat of the planet on his skin, heard the sound of a gong being struck. He saw armies clashing, smelt the copper of Vulcan blood in dry air. All of it seemed to swirl in his mind, anchored by the dark eyes of his friend.

Then, the tempo slowed just as suddenly as it had changed earlier. Now the notes were long, drawn out like a gentle tide against the sand. Spock's eyes slid closed, breaking the invisible string that had connected them, and Jim felt something in his chest give. A few seconds later, a deep chord played and the song came to a close.

As it had with all the previous performers, applause followed, but Jim found himself too dazed to join. Spock caught his eye again as he bowed—a deep nod—and then turned away to take a seat on the other side of Chekov.

"That...was something, I'll admit." The sound of his friend's voice pulled Jim from the strange miasma that had fallen over his mind, and he turned to Bones blinking. "I knew he could play, but I'll be damned if that wasn't nearly emotional!"

The words caused a grin to slip across Jim's face, and the odd feeling in his chest began to fade. Strange, the things music could do. "Maybe that was the point, Bones,” he suggested with a chuckle. “After all, if there's no emotion in music, what's the point?"

Bones snorted. "Hmph, well, after what he and Uhura did, anything less would have been a let-down. Still, I'm surprised he—"

The doctor's words were cut off by the sharp whistle of the intercom. Jim flashed his friend an apologetic grin—Bones rolled his eyes—and crossed the room. "Captain Kirk here, what is it?"

"Sorry, Captain," crackled Ensign Stolar's voice, Uhura's counterpart on the bridge right now. "I have Admiral Sheen on vid-screen in conference room three for you and Commander Spock. New orders, sir."

Jim let his eyes close for an instant, pushing back a sigh. "Understood, Ensign. Let the Admiral know that we'll be there right away."

"Aye, Captain."

The rec room had fallen silent while he had been talking, and he turned back to see crew members looking at him expectantly. "Sorry I'll miss your performances, Soctty, Sulu," he said, nodding to the two men who were setting up what looked like an assembly of potted plants in the middle of the stage. "Mister Spock?" Spock rose from his seat with his usual grace and was at his side a few moments later as they stepped through the door.

It wasn't a long walk to conference room three, and they were nearly at the door when Jim stopped, causing Spock to do the same and turn to him, one eyebrow raised. "Thank you for performing tonight," he said, holding his friend's gaze. "I'm glad you shared some Vulcan culture with us." The words sounded awkward on the air, and he silently cursed himself for his inability to put this feeling into words. He didn't want to mention the emotionalism he had picked up on and risk offending his friend, but he also wanted to ask if Spock had felt it to—the strange connection between them.

"It was my honor, Captain," Spock replied, and the moment slipped away. 

It was probably better this way; they didn't have the time for the kind of conversation he thought might come if he voiced any of his other half-thoughts. Instead, Jim plastered on a smile and squared his shoulders. "Shall we see where we're boldly going next?"

Spock raised an eyebrow, and the last of the something in his chest slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I hope this chapter didn't slow things down too much—I really wanted to take the time to showcase the different characters a little while giving Spock time for his logical panic lol. As always, I live for comments, so please let me know what you enjoyed/didn't enjoy.


	4. New Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock receive the Enterprise's new orders and are less than thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Those who have read other fics may notice that I tend to give all of my made-up admirals s names. This is not intentional and I have no idea why I tend toward them. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Vulkhansu translations are bolded at the end of the chapter.

Spock fell into parade rest behind Jim's right shoulder as they came to a stop at the head of the conference table. The screen in the middle was blinking faintly, an indication that a video-caller was waiting for them to accept the transmission. In front of him, Spock saw Jim take one, two deep breaths and then lean forward to push the button that would open the call.

A moment later, Admiral Sheen appeared on the screen. The admiral was a woman in her mid-fifties, although her hair was still a deep brown. Spock knew little of her beyond her official service record, but that was evidence enough of her capabilities. She had mediated civil wars on three different planets during her tenure as a captain and her record as an admiral thus far was equally impressive.

"Captain Kirk, Commander Spock," she greeted with a nod to them each in turn. "Thank you for joining me on such short notice."

"Of course, Admiral. What do you need the  _ Enterprise  _ to do?" Jim asked, forgoing any additional small-talk. Spock appreciated the decision.

"How much do you know about the planet Ewle?"

Spock watched Jim's head tilt a fraction to the side and knew the man was frowning faintly. "Not much, I'm afraid. They've been seeking to join the Federation for a few years, but the process has been delayed by the beginning of one of their holy cycles. Something about the government being unable to make important decisions during that time? Mister Spock?"

"The Shadcha cycle began three standard years ago, Captain, and Ewlean tradition dictated that no treaties be signed during the cycle, however, negotiations have continued," Spock supplied. "My knowledge beyond that is limited."

Admiral Sheen nodded. "You are both correct. The cycle was expected to last another year, but a child was born in one of their temples two standard days ago with some kind of birthmark that apparently marks the end of the cycle."

Jim nodded. "So you need someone to go and finish the negotiations."

"Yes, Captain, although this is a...unique situation. The treaty is drafted and ready to be signed. The Ewlean have agreed to all of the terms and seem eager to begin participating in the Federation. However, they warned us that before they could sign anything, the representatives of the Federation would need to pass four trials, one for each of their holy attributes."

Spock forced down the urge to sigh. He was not one for superstitions, but even he had to admit that the  _ Enterprise _ seemed to encounter such 'unique' situations with a much greater frequency than other Starfleet vessels, even those assigned First Contact duties. If Jim's mind was running through any of the same thoughts, however, they weren't evident in his voice when he spoke,

"Do we have any additional information about the trials?" he asked.

"We know a few things. Each trial will exemplify one of the four holy attributes, which translate roughly to 'cultivation', 'artistic expression', 'leadership', and 'negotiating'. Each trial has to be completed by a different member of your crew, Captain. From what the Ewlean have told us, the trials involve a special drug that induces specific hallucinations without inhibiting movement. The priest will—"

"They're going to drug us, Admiral?" Jim interrupted, and Spock could hear a faint tremor in his voice. He doubted the admiral would pick up on it, but he stepped forward and allowed his shoulder to brush his captain's regardless, giving the man a physical sensation to ground himself with.

"I understand your hesitation, Captain, but Ewlean scientists have tested the drugs and found them safe for humans and Vulcans alike."

Jim’s shoulders squared. "I would like an explanation of the drugs' makeup sent to my Chief Medical Officer regardless, Admiral." 

The woman's lips twisted into an understanding smile. "Of course, Captain." Jim nodded his thanks and gestured for her to continue. "The trials will be a mix of mental and physical, but I've been assured that any injuries will be minor. This isn't supposed to be life and death. Really, it's just an elaborate ceremony."

Privately, Spock doubted that was entirely the case. Too often, the  _ Enterprise _ had been assured safety and met with danger instead. Miscommunication was a common problem in a Federation composed of dozens of planets and even more cultures and languages. A perfect translation of such a culturally specific event as these trials was highly improbable.

"Understood, Admiral. When is the  _ Enterprise _ expected at Ewle?"

"In eight standard days," Sheen replied. "The trials will begin the day after you arrive, and will continue, one per day, for four days, with the treaty being signed on the fifth."

Jim nodded slowly, absorbing the information and no doubt already determining who in the crew was best suited for each trial. "How long will it take us to reach the planet from our current position, Mr. Spock?"

"Approximately 6.73 standard days at our current velocity, Captain, assuming there are no delays."

"And there always seem to be delays," Jim muttered under his breath, quiet enough that the admiral would not be able to hear. Then louder, "We will alter course for Ewle right away, Admiral."

"Thank you, Captain. I am sending the full briefing along with the notes of the officers who were originally set to take the trials to your PADD. Choose your representatives wisely, Captain, and if possible, see to it that you and your First Officer are among those who take the trials."

Jim nodded shortly. "Yes, ma'am. My communications officer will be in touch if we require any further clarification."

"Good luck Captain, Commander," Admiral Sheen said and then the screen flickered to the Federation logo, which lingered a few moments before fading to black as the screen powered off.

As soon as the admiral disappeared, Spock saw Jim's shoulders slump. The man leaned forward, his hands resting heavily on the table. 

Spock moved without thinking.

Jim started as his hand came to rest gently on the man's shoulder, but he quickly relaxed into the touch. "I suppose our easy run of things had been lasting too long anyway. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later," he said with a huffing, humorless laugh.

"Indeed." Perhaps he could have argued the illogic in his captain's belief, but Spock was too focused on pushing a subtle feeling of comfort through his fingers to bother constructing such an argument. Jim would not want to hear it.

"I'll send the senior officers a message to let them know about the new orders. Meeting before shift tomorrow, you think?"

"It would be advantageous to deliver the pertinent information as soon as possible," Spock agreed. It would mean they would both need to delay their sleep in order to read the briefing from the admiral, but Spock knew Jim rarely slept with any consistency so soon after receiving new orders that could put his crew in danger.

"Mmm. Any ideas for who to send to the trials?" Jim's shoulders still held tension in them, but his voice was less strained now. Spock continued to send focused waves of comfort through his fingers—carefully keeping his mind shielded from Jim's emotions—as he replied,

"You are the most obvious choice to fulfill the attribute of 'leadership', Captain, and I believe Mr. Sulu or a member of the Biology Department would suit 'cultivation', assuming that the word is to be taken in a biological meaning."

Jim rolled his shoulders and stood, and Spock allowed his hand to fall away. "My first thought for 'artistic expression' was Uhura, but I'm not sure what the Ewlean mean by art. Does singing count? She paints too, but then again, what we might consider beautiful could be offensive or even overly simplistic to them." The tension was back in Jim's voice, but this time Spock resisted the urge to step forward and calm his  _ ashayam _ . His emotional controls were already frayed from the performances, and he doubted his ability to continue to shield properly.

"It is likely that the briefing will provide more information, Jim. There are eight days before the decision must be made."

A small smile appeared on Jim's face and his eyes softened. "Is that your way of telling me to slow down and stop panicking, Mr. Spock?" Spock only tilted his head in response, which pulled a deep laugh from Jim, as he had hoped it would. "Alright then, I'll read the briefing, and  _ then  _ I'll panic, how does that sound?"

Jim's tone was light, and Spock knew the man was joking, but he could not suppress the urge to step forward. "There is no reason to panic, Captain. Regardless of the lack of preparation, there is not a crew in Starfleet that can match the success record of this vessel under your leadership. This mission will be no different."

Something in Jim's expression softened. "What would I do without you, Spock?" he asked with a quiet chuckle. "Thank you. Would you like to join me in looking over the briefing?"

Spock opened his mouth to accept the invitation but closed it when he remembered the current state of his emotional controls. "Thank you, Captain, but I would prefer to meditate for some time before beginning my review."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll see you in the morning, Spock." Jim declared, an easy smile curving his lips. 

"Good night, Captain."

. . .

Meditation did not come easy to Spock. In fact, after forty-two minutes of vain attempts, he rose from his mat and crossed the room to pick up his PADD. Perhaps it would do his mind well to focus on the upcoming mission instead of the way Jim's eyes had looked when they met his during his performance of  _ Le-sumalik Yel _ . 

A small voice in his head told him that there was nothing in the universe so consuming as his  _ ashayam _ .

The briefing was one hundred and three pages long, as it contained notes on the culture of the Ewlean, the private observations of a three different ambassadors, specific details of the treaty, a summary of the trials they would be participating in, as well as the remarks of the officers who had formerly been preparing to undergo the trials. Spock settled into his chair and adjusted the font of the PADD to something easier for him to read, and began the process of familiarizing himself with the  _ Enterprise's _ new mission. 

He was able to distract himself for precisely two hours, eighteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds. That was when he finished the briefing, with the thought that he would need to call Doctor McCoy to look over the available information on the drug that would be used himself. His  _ ashayam _ was allergic to a number of substances and had numerous underlying conditions that could be impacted by a drug such as this.

That thought quickly led to the reminder that Jim was going to be placing himself in danger once again, and there was very little he could do about it. According to the briefing, a more detailed explanation of each trial would be given the day of, and their party would have one standard hour to choose a representative and prepare. Aside from that and a description of the drug, there was very little information available as to the specifics of these trials. However, one of the officers who had been preparing for them had summarized the last time the trials had occurred. All four representatives had survived, but two had suffered broken bones, all had a number of lacerations, and one had required a week of recovery in one of the temples for 'healing of the mind'. And they had all been Ewlean. No outsiders had ever participated in the trials before.

Spock closed his eyes and allowed himself a sigh. Before The Realization, the knowledge that Jim would be putting himself in danger on away missions by virtue of both his position and his disposition was unsettling. Now, it caused a sickening fear to coil in the back of his mind. 

It was not an unreasonable worry. Their position was a dangerous one, and the  _ Enterprise _ was no stranger to death. However, he knew he could not act on it. Even if he and Jim were in a relationship, he would never stop his  _ ashayam _ from doing what came naturally to him—James Kirk was not to run from danger in any form.

Another sigh fell from his lips, and Spock rubbed his eyes, a human trait he had picked up from his mother when she would work for hours in her garden or read to him until long after the sun had set. He needed to rest, and he had already proven meditation to be an unachievable goal tonight. But the thought of sleeping when there was still so  _ much _ in his mind...

He was about to stand from his chair to attempt meditation again when his PADD let out a soft beep. A message from Nyota.

_ ‘Coffee in the officer's lounge?' _

_ ‘Nyota, it is 23:17.' _

_ 'Tea then.' _

_ '...you desire something from me.' _

_ 'No, I don't. I think you might want an ear though.' _

_ 'I already possess two of them.' _ He was being deliberately obtuse now, and rose from his chair to fetch his boots as he waited for Nyota's reply. It would be beneficial to have her insight on the events of the night, and he found himself wanting to escape the confines of his room.

The PADD buzzed as he pulled on his last boot.  _ ‘There's a joke I want to make but I won't. What kind of tea would you like? I'm making it from hand, not replicating. I've got jasmine, green, and a fruit blend.' _

Spock raised an eyebrow. He was familiar with the joke in question, as Jim had stated several times during his time in Sickbay that doctor McCoy's findings were incomplete, as he had a left ear, a right ear, and a final frontier. Seventy-two percent of the time, that comment earned Jim at least another hour in the good doctor's irritable company.

_ 'Jasmine. Thank you, Nyota. I will be there in approximately two minutes.' _

_ 'No problem.' _

. . .

Jim rubbed his eyes.The words on the PADD were starting to swim in front of him, and if he was honest with himself, he couldn't remember what the last four paragraphs he had read had said. Every time he tried to reread the section, though, a dozen or so measures from Spock’s performance danced through his head and distracted him again.

He groaned and stood from the chair where he sat. He had relocated from the conference room to one of the observation lounges—stopping by the bridge to relay the new orders to the helm and by his quarters to grab his PADD and a large mug of coffee—and the sight of the stars moving past the window calmed his irritation. He strode the few steps to the window, humming as he did so, and leaned against the glass. 

From what he had read about the trials so far, they shouldn't be anything his crew couldn't handle. From the ridiculously limited information available he had assembled a rough away team consisting of Sulu, Uhura, himself, and Spock for the trials of cultivation, artistry, leadership, and negotiation respectively. Scotty could stay and run the ship and Bones would be on-call if anything went wrong with the drugs. Stars he was not looking forward to that.

Since he was fourteen he had had a problem with not being in control of himself. Being on painkillers was disturbing enough, but a drug that would induce hallucinations that would somehow test his leadership? The thought was unnerving to say the least. He hated the idea of asking any of his crew members to undergo that, and he made a mental note to remind both Sulu and Uhura that this was a mission they were free to decline without penalty. 

His only comfort was the fact that Spock would be there with him. With the Vulcan's powerful mental and physical abilities, Jim had no doubt that Spock would triumph over whatever trial he was given, and the thought gave him some measure of courage. 

He stared out at the stars for a while longer, thinking of the plans that would need to be made and the precautions that could be taken to ensure that this mission was as danger-free as possible. Eventually, though, he pulled himself away, striding over to the replicator in the corner of the room to make a fresh cup of coffee. He was about three-quarters of the way through, now. Another forty-five minutes and he should be done, which would give him enough time to pass out on a couch for a few hours before he had to get up and get ready for the officer's meeting in the morning.

. . .

"You performed remarkably this evening, Nyota," Spock stated as she handed him a mug of jasmine tea. She blushed. 

"Thank you. I'm glad that the captain let us put this together. I got a message from him a couple hours ago saying he wanted to do something similar once a month and rotate departments and shifts so that the entire ship has the opportunity to get involved if they want," Nyota said, eyes shining happily. "He also gave approval to let performers wear cultural attire instead of their uniforms."

"It is my understanding that he enjoyed the performances, and he has often expressed a desire to learn about the cultures of those aboard the ship."

"Mmm," she hummed, leaning forward slightly. "There's one performance in particular he enjoyed."

Spock took a sip from his tea. "As I was not a witness to his reactions to all of the performances, I cannot verify that statement."

"You were a witness to the one that mattered."

A sigh fell from his lips, something that seemed to be happening with an increased frequency of late, and he set his mug on the small table between them. He had known what Nyota desired to discuss, and if he truly wished to avoid the topic he would not have agreed to meet her. Still, it was uncomfortable.

"I believe I may have been...excessively emotional this evening," he admitted with a slight frown. "Jim seemed to wish to discuss the performance but chose not to. I am uncertain what to extrapolate from this."

"Has he asked you about what happened on the bridge?"

Spock stiffened in his seat. "He has not.”

"He hasn't asked me either, and the ship's logs say he hasn't looked for a translation in the computers. Which means he either didn't notice, noticed and already knows what it means, noticed and  _ thinks _ he knows what it means, or noticed and is waiting for an explanation."

Spock blinked, shifting his gaze over to Nyota's face. She had one eyebrow raised and was leaning back in her chair, mug held in both hands as she took a slow sip. 

"And what about at the concert tonight? What happened?"

"As I stated before, I believe I—"

"No, Spock, what happened between you and the captain? He looked like someone had just hit him over the head with a baseball bat when you finished playing."

Spock blinked again. "I am...uncertain.  _ Le-sumalik Yel _ is a piece meant to reflect the joy an ancient warrior felt upon returning triumphant from battle to his mate, only to lose his mate a few months later to sickness. It is a piece of great emotion, and I instinctively sought Jim's presence while playing it. It seems he sought mine as well, although I cannot explain why."

Nyota hummed again and took another sip before replying. "Music is a language, Spock, and it's one a lot of people speak instinctively."

"I am aware that you believe Jim and I to be compatible, but that does not change the fact that he has not demonstrated any interest in my person, nor does it change the typical transience of his romantic endeavors." He picked up his mug once again and took a sip, savoring the heat that slipped down his throat as he swallowed. It was a welcome distraction from the way Nyota's eyes seemed to stare into his  _ katra _ from across the small table.

"You might be surprised, Spock. I still think you should tell him, especially after what happened yesterday, but I won't push you." Spock nodded his thanks. "However, I do have a question for you. You see, Christine and I were talking, and she said that we should visit the arboretum that Sulu’s been working on for our next date, but I know what Sulu’s doing in there and..."

Both of their mugs had been empty for at least an hour by the time their conversation dwindled down, but Spock found that he did not mind the lateness. His mind was calmer than it had been in two days. 

"Thank you for your company, Nyota. I wish you and Ms. Chapel luck in your excursion," Spock said as he stepped out the lounge door.

"No problem, Spock. See you in a few hours."

The door slid closed, and Spock found himself in an empty hallway, his thoughts quiet. Perhaps now he would be able to achieve the meditation he sought.

  
  
**_Le-sumalik Yel_ ** **translates to ‘Frozen Star’**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Me planning this fic* Ah! A cute accidental ashayam fic! How long will it be?  
> *My brain* At least 10 chapters.  
> *Me* ...that will require plot.  
> *My brain* Yup.  
> *Me* So??? Any ideas?  
> *My brain* ...
> 
> Thus, plot.  
> As always, I love and adore all comments! They really encourage me to keep writing, and that's encouragement I'm going to need these next few weeks (it's a busy month y'all). Thanks for reading!!


	5. Headache Cocktail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention Jim isn't a fan of the new orders? Because Jim isn't a fan of the new orders. But Spock's trying to help!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by @marlinspirkhall on tumblr (they also have an ao3 that you should check out) and by beta'd I mean I sent it to them and they gave me some advice which I very rudely ignored lol. Anyway, enjoy!

Uneasy anger simmered in the officer’s conference room. “Command signed off on this?” Bones had been upset since the meeting started because of the early hour, but now Jim thought he might be close to bursting a blood vessel. “The drug’s never been tested on humans before! And who knows how it’s going to affect Spock’s physiology!” 

“Admiral Sheen assured me that it was safe, Bones, and I requested that all the data be sent to you to look over,” Jim replied, leaning forward in his seat at the head of the conference table. All his head officers were present, several still blinking sleep from their eyes. “You should get the information by the end of Alpha shift.”

Bones grumbled but nodded. “Alright, but I want a medical team on the planet in case of an emergency.”

Jim frowned. “I’m not sure that will be possible. The only Federation representatives on the planet are supposed to be those participating in the trials. After a trial is complete, the representative will beam back to the  _ Enterprise _ . The last person left, the negotiator, signs the treaty.”

Bones opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Spock spoke up, his gaze turned to Jim. “Captain, I believe that what the Doctor suggests may be possible,” he said, his voice as steady as it always was despite the early hour. “The Ewlean have had a medical team present during the trials in the past. Since we are outsiders, I believe they will allow a small contingent of medical officers to beam down with the official representatives.”

“Thank you, Commander. Lieutenant Uhura, confirm that with Command and find out how many medical officers we can bring with us.”

“Aye, sir.”

Jim turned back to the table as a whole. “Aside from Doctor McCoy’s objections, does anyone else have anything they want to address? As it stands, the away team will consist of myself, Commander Spock, Lieutenant Uhura, and Lieutenant Sulu. The  _ Enterprise  _ will be in Scotty’s command until we return from the planet.”

Around the table, his officers shook their heads. Many still looked hesitant, but Uhura was smiling, and Jim could see the gears turning in Sulu’s brain. They still weren’t certain what ‘cultivation’ and ‘artistic expression’ meant to the Ewlean, but they had both accepted the assignment, boldly going without hesitation.

“Alright then. Everyone, familiarize yourself with the briefing and your role. Alpha shift starts in fifteen minutes. Dismissed.”

The officers rose and filed out of the room until it was just him, Spock, and Bones left. The doctor sighed heavily and sat back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at Jim, who resisted the urge to shift in his seat. He knew what his friend was thinking, and he didn’t really want to hear it out loud. Unfortunately, Bones had never been one to keep his thoughts to himself.

“You sure you want to do this, Jim? They’re going to give you a powerful hallucinogen and then they’ll decide if you fulfill their idea of ‘leadership’.”

Jim let his shoulders sag slightly. “Actually, Bones, I’m almost positive I  _ don’t _ want to, but you know as well as I do how important it is for the captain of the Federation’s flagship to take part in something like this.” 

Next to him, he felt Spock shift in his seat, and he knew without looking that the Vulcan’s eyebrow had crept a few centimeters toward his hairline. That was a conversation Jim definitely didn’t want to have right now, so he straightened back up and pushed on saying, “Besides, if you can beam down with me, Bones, what’s the worst that could happen? I just hope I don’t hallucinate a little line of monkeys following me around everywhere.” He plastered on a grin, although he knew Bones wouldn’t be fooled.

“You’re going to be the death of me one of these days, Jim, I swear,” his friend groused. “If I find a single thing in that drug you’re even slightly allergic to I’m pulling you out, Captain or not. Got it?”

This time Jim’s grin was a little more genuine. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said, snapping off a salute.

Bones rolled his eyes and stood from the table as Jim dropped his arm. “I’ll let you both know when I get the drug data from Command. I assume you want to look it over, Spock?” From the corner of his eye, Jim saw his first officer nod. 

“That would be appreciated, Doctor.”

“Mhm.” Bones was almost at the door when he stopped and turned back. “Remind Sulu that he needs to get his physical done if he wants to so much as breathe on that planet, much less participate in any of those trials.”

“I’ll send him down after shift.”

Bones nodded and left the room, the door hissing shut behind him. Jim stood from the table, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. The briefing had ended up taking him thirty minutes longer than he had expected to get through, and he had actually fallen asleep on the couch with his PADD still on. He had almost scared an ensign to death when the sound of the door opening caused him to wake with a start and roll off the couch. All in all, his day was off to a less-than-ideal start, and he was hoping Rand would have the chance to stop by with a fresh cup of coffee during Alpha.

“You look fatigued, Captain.”

Spock’s voice startled Jim out of his wandering thoughts. He had forgotten the Vulcan was still sitting—no, standing—next to him. “We aren’t on duty for another ten minutes, Spock, it’s Jim,” he declared, turning to his first officer.

The Vulcan’s eyebrow rose as Jim had known it would. “Was your rest inadequate?” Spock questioned, his deep voice rumbling over Jim’s name.

“Turns out the couches in the observation lounge don’t make the greatest beds,” he replied with an easy grin, stepping around the table toward the door. “But another cup of coffee and I’ll be fine.”

The inflection of Spock’s voice didn’t change, but Jim could hear the doubt as he asked, “Would you prefer to reschedule our chess game this evening?”

Jim chuckled and shook his head. “I haven’t rescheduled a game yet, Spock, and I’m not going to now because I missed a couple of hours of sleep,” he declared as he made his way to the door, Spock following close behind. “I can’t promise that I won’t fall asleep in the middle of trouncing you though.”

Spock easily fell in stride with him as they made their way down the hallway to the turbolift. “As it is my turn to host, I will have the advantage, Jim. If you are to fall asleep, it will be in the midst of your defeat,” he declared, and Jim could have sworn there was a grin pulling at Spock’s lips.

A laugh bubbled up from Jim’s chest and filled the turbolift. “We’ll see about that, Spock,” he said, still smiling as the doors slid closed. “Bridge.” The lift began to move and a comfortable silence fell between them as they sped toward the bridge.

. . .

Alpha shift was quiet. Now that the  _ Enterprise _ had changed course to Ewle, they were traveling through space that had been well charted before and there was little that needed Spock's direct attention. Such circumstances often left the bridge crew restless, but today was an exception to that rule.

Sulu and Chekov had been quietly talking about their performances the night before as well as the upcoming mission—the ensign was disappointed that he had not been included on the away team—and Uhura was monitoring communications from Command while reviewing the briefing. Other members of the bridge crew were tending to their stations and moving about as their duties required. And then there was Jim.

Spock had angled himself—unconsciously, although he had not adjusted his position once he had realized what he had done—so that he could see the man from the corner of his eye as he reviewed reports that had been sent to him from various members of the science division. An hour into their shift Yeoman Rand had appeared with a mug—coffee presumably—and a stack of PADDs for the captain, who had accepted both with murmured words of gratitude. The mug had been emptied a scant ten minutes later as Jim worked his way through the PADDs, humming softly to himself.

Now, Jim was staring out the viewscreen, and although Spock could not see the details of the man's face he knew his eyes were vacant. He was likely only a few minutes away from falling asleep in the captain's chair. Part of Spock wanted to relieve the man of his duty so that Jim could sleep in comfort elsewhere, but he knew that Jim would not appreciate such a discussion on the bridge. As Jim's head began to tilt forward, however, Spock decided that he had to do  _ something _ and so he pulled up the report that he had received from Doctor McCoy half an hour ago about the drug that would be used during the Ewlean trials and crossed the bridge to Jim's chair.

"Captain." The way Jim flinched slightly at the sound of his voice was nearly imperceivable, but Spock felt his concern deepen. His  _ ashayam _ pushed his mind and body to their limits far too often to be healthy, and although it had yet to truly impact his ability to lead the ship—Jim could be bleeding out and still perform his duties admirably—it was taking a toll on him.

"Don't tell me there's another anomaly putting off more energy than the sun on your sensors, Mister Spock," Jim said with a grin. The words were spoken lightly, but Spock could hear the underlying concern. Another unforeseen encounter was the last thing Jim wanted, he knew.

"No such anomaly has appeared thus far, Captain. However, I have Doctor McCoy's report on the drug that will be used during the trials. It has no Federation Standard translation, but the doctor refers to it as the 'headache cocktail'," Spock replied, handing Jim the PADD. "It appears to be compatible with both human and Vulcanoid physiologies, with the most severe anticipated symptoms being brief nausea and mild cephalgia."

"Thus the 'headache cocktail'," Jim murmured under his breath as he accepted the report. "Thank you, Spock. I'll give the PADD back tonight?"

Spock nodded. "That is acceptable." Jim's attention turned to the device in question and as Spock had no real reason to linger at the captain's side, he strode back to his station. 

For the remainder of Alpha shift, Jim pored over the medical report, pausing every half hour or so to check in with the other members of the bridge crew and receive updates. He did not doze off again, although Spock could still read weariness in the line of his shoulders whenever his gaze wandered unthinkingly to his  _ ashayam _ . 

When the Beta shift replacements arrived, Jim lingered only long enough to remind Lieutenant Sulu of his physical—which was met with a low groan from the helmsman and a laugh from Chekov—before slipping off the bridge. Spock stayed longer, receiving an update on the changes that had occurred to the ongoing experiments during the shift. 

For a moment, he thought about locating his captain and attempting to persuade Jim to rest now that they were off duty, but he quickly dismissed the idea as futile. Instead, he took the turbolift down to the labs. It would do his mind good to be immersed in the routine of his scientific duties, and they would occupy enough of his attention that his thoughts would not be able to linger on his worry for Jim. 

In theory.

. . .

Jim paced around his room, irritation flickering at the edge of his mind. It wasn't directed at anyone or anything, not even the upcoming mission really, just simmering there with only enough shape to be distracting. He should have known falling asleep in the observation lounge was a horrible idea, and not just because of the crick in his neck. 

He pushed a sigh from his lungs, and some of the pressure in his chest eased slightly. He was exhausted, but he was also too wired to get any real sleep. All his body would be able to do now is doze, and that would only make it harder for him to sleep tonight. He thought about reviewing the briefing—there was no way he had retained all of it from last night—but he didn't really want to sit at his desk for hours after his time on the bridge.

Maybe going for a run would help. Even if it didn’t, it would do the crew to see him up and about. 

That thought in mind, Jim crossed to his dresser and pulled out his red workout pants and a grey t-shirt that had his name across the shoulders in blocky letters. He changed quickly and was out his door in no time, nodding to crewmen as he passed them in the halls. Now that he had a destination in mind that didn't involve him sitting still there was a certain spring in his step, and his cheerful greeting to the ensign just outside the gym was barely forced.

After another few moments of debate, Jim decided to take a few laps around the track rather than use the treadmill. He wanted to be  _ moving _ . He took a few minutes to warm up—he would hear Bones' voice scolding him the entire time if he didn't–and soon he was jogging around the track.

His mind, which had been irritatingly fuzzy ever since his second cup of coffee had worn off hours ago, cleared. Instead of filling with thoughts and worries of the ship though, it focused on the thud of his feet against the floor, the feeling of his heart pumping in his chest, the smell of the recycled air as it filled his lungs. It was wonderful.

Exercise had always been a sort of escape for him, and it calmed him in the same way meditating or praying calmed others. When he was running or working out, the universe seemed to narrow until the only thing that needed his focus was putting one foot in front of the other. In his academy days, the habit had kept him in prime shape and impressed more than a few partners. Now, his body was getting older, and the weight lingered, but he found he didn't mind. He still felt young, especially now as he raced around the track.

Sweat had drenched his shirt by the time he finished—breath coming hard—but the irritation had burned away, and as Jim made his way to the showers he couldn't help but grin.

. . .

"Your move, Mister Spock," Jim said, leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on the chessboard as he waited for Spock to react to his latest play. They were only twenty minutes or so into their game, too early for there to be any reliable hint as to who would come out on top, and Jim wanted to see how the Vulcan would respond to his ploy.

Playing chess with Spock was interesting. Jim was never one to back down from an intellectual challenge, and he had graduated at the top of a number of science classes. There were times, however, when he couldn't take another scientific lecture or report on the  _ Enterprise's _ engines. It was never like that playing chess with Spock. Jim had a feeling he could sit across the board from the Vulcan for days without ever feeling the urge to go for a run or pace around the room.

"I cannot see the logic behind that particular move, Jim," Spock admitted after a long moment. "However, as your previous record has shown, you excel at using such illogic to your acute advantage."

Jim grinned. "It's all part of my charm, Spock. Every captain needs their thing."

Spock didn't reply except to move his knight, sidestepping the trap that Jim had been intending to build. Was that avoidance intentional, though, or incidental? He frowned thoughtfully, fingers drumming against the table. After a minute or two of thinking, he moved one of his pawns forward.

"How are the experiments in the labs going?" he asked, only partially in the hopes of distracting Spock as the Vulcan planned his next move.

"They are proceeding as anticipated. The complimentary research being performed on the  _ Gandhi _ is expected to conclude in the next nine days,” he responded, moving a rook to threaten Jim’s knight.

“The data’s all being sent to a research base after that, isn’t it?” He would have to sacrifice a rook if he wanted to save that knight, assuming Spock would take the bait, but it would be worth it. He nudged the piece forward. 

“Indeed. The final stages of the experiment will be completed there. If the hypothesis proves to be correct, the prototype material will be sent to Command.”

“And the next generation of starships will have probes that can withstand almost anything.”

Spock inclined his head. The fact that he didn’t comment on Jim’s exaggeration told him that he was trying to determine whether or not to take the bait that Jim had offered with his rook. A few seconds later, there was a black bishop where Jim’s knight had been. He cursed softly, causing Spock to arch an eyebrow—he hadn’t realized the bishop was in a position to strike.

They fell into silence again, and Jim redoubled his attention on the board, trying to map out all of Spock’s potential strategies in his mind. Some days he could do so with a degree of accuracy that always seemed to surprise the Vulcan, but Spock had been playing differently today. He couldn’t explain what had changed, but he knew there was something different in the way Spock danced the pieces across the multi-leveled board.

Another half-hour passed, and Jim lost a rook and several pawns. He was trying to find a way out of the trap Spock had built for his remaining knight when the Vulcan spoke, derailing his train of thought.

“During the briefing with Admiral Sheen and at the officers’ meeting this morning, you displayed concern and even hesitance regarding the use of the Ewlean drug.” The words were a statement rather than a question, and so Jim simply nodded, hoping that they were merely an absent observation on Spock’s part. 

They weren’t.

“Caution is logical in the face of the unknown, however, your reticence is uncharacteristic in a situation such as this,” Spock continued, and although Jim kept his gaze trained on the board he could feel Spock’s eyes staring into his soul. “Furthermore, Doctor McCoy’s inquiries suggest that your aversion is not unexpected.”

Neither of those sentences were questions either, but Jim could feel the weight of the unsaid words on the air and squirmed in his seat. After a moment of indecision, he leaned forward, abandoning the game for now, and met Spock’s eyes. He didn’t want to dance around this for the rest of the match.

“You already know I was on Tarsus IV—” Jim’s mind flashed to a scene not dissimilar to their positions now, although they had been sitting in his room that night— “and you know I saw some pretty horrible things there.” Spock nodded once, eyes somber. “Well, a few weeks after the famine began, just when everything was beginning to get bad and people were first starting to die of starvation, a man started claiming he had a drug that could make all of our pain disappear.

“I only tried the shot once. When I came down from whatever high I had been in, I was lying in a room full of people sitting in their own sick, all wearing the same blissed-out smile.” He swallowed, forcing back the bile that rose in his throat. The room had been cramped and dark and dank and heavy with desperation, and he could feel it all pressing down on his shoulders. “Just the one hit left people heaving up their guts after they came down, and it ended up quickening their starvation.”

Spock’s eyes shone with pain. “Forgive me, Jim. It was not my intention to rouse such painful memories.”

Jim shook his head. “Apologies are illogical, remember? Don’t worry about it,” he assured, moving a pawn forward in a blind attempt to turn his friend’s piercing gaze elsewhere. “I just like to be in control of myself is all. I looked over the report you gave me, and there’s nothing in the Ewlean drug that should have any of the same effects. I’ll be fine.” He was convincing himself as much as Spock—he had tried to avoid thinking too long about the details of the trials so far—but he pushed on anyway. “Don’t worry about it.”

It was Spock’s turn to shift his gaze to the chessboard. He was silent so long Jim thought he had decided to drop the topic and return to the game, but then he looked up once more, something undefinable swimming in his eyes.

“That is a desire I can understand, Jim,” he said, voice hardly more than a whisper. “I do not know if I can offer you any comfort, but I will remain by your side.”

Jim blinked, something in his chest tightening at the barefaced honesty in his friend’s voice. “Thank you, Spock.” Spock held his gaze for an eternity and a heartbeat before nodding once and moving his queen forward to seize Jim’s knight.

An hour later, Jim was laying on the bed in his own room. He had lost the game, and yet as he turned on his side and burrowed into his pillow, his mind replayed Spock’s words—the melody of the Vulcan’s song providing a soundtrack to the promise—and he felt as if he had won anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I kind of hated this chapter when I wrote it. Hopefully, it wasn't as bad as my brain is telling me it was lol. I love and appreciate any and all comments I get, regardless of length or content, so please leave me one to let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!


	6. A Hundred Times Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew does some more prepping and beams down to the planet Ewle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway there! Except not really because I think it's gonna be a chapter or two longer than 12 because the Trials were supposed to start in chapter 7. And they didn't. So yeah. I hope you like worldbuilding because I like worldbuilding lol.

The next several days passed in relative peace. Jim went for a run every other day, but in general, his anxiety stayed at a low simmer. Whenever it did flare up, Spock was there at his side as if the Vulcan could sense his thoughts taking a dark turn. They had played four chess games in as many days, and Jim would be lying if he said Spock’s presence hadn’t been calming. 

When they had been two days from Ewle they had finally gotten confirmation that Bones and one other member of his staff would be able to beam down with them and stay throughout the trials. The doctor had spent a full hour and a half during one of their dinners griping about how many hypos and other equipment he was having to bring, and the familiar sound had chased the last of Jim’s nerves away. 

As it stood, the away team would be Sulu, Uhura, himself, Spock, Bones, and Nurse Chapel. He had checked and double-checked with Sulu and Uhura that they were okay with participating and had queued up replacements just in case, but both officers had simply smiled at him and insisted they wanted to be part of the trials. Uhura had already started researching Ewlean singing and dancing traditions.

Stars, he would never understand what he had done to earn himself a crew like this.

“We are two hours from entering Ewlean orbit, Captain.” Chekov’s voice snapped Jim from his thoughts, and he took a moment to recenter himself before replying,

“Thank you, Ensign. Lieutenant Uhura, please call up the away team’s replacements. I want us all to do a final debrief before we touch down on the planet.”

“Aye, Captain.” The bridge fell silent as Spock and Sulu both prepared their stations for the crewmembers who would be taking their places. “Mister Scott says he’ll be up in a few minutes. The others are on their way.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”   
  


The turbolift doors hissed open not long after and three crew members stepped out, easily taking their positions on the bridge as Sulu, Uhura, and Spock all stood. “I’ll meet you in Conference Room 3 as soon as Scotty’s here,” Jim said, nodding to the turbolift. 

“Bring me back a souvenir, Hikaru, and not another plant!”

Jim turned to Chekov with a grin. He knew the ensign was disappointed that he hadn’t been included in the away team, but he was also excited to be the senior officer at the helm. Sulu stopped next to the captain’s chair and turned back.

“You want a shiny rock instead?”

Chekov glared at him good-naturedly and Sulu laughed, joining Uhura in the lift. Spock, however, stayed where he was behind Jim’s shoulder. Chekov muttered something under his breath in Russian and then turned to the woman who had taken Sulu’s place. They quickly fell into a quiet conversation, and Jim relaxed into his chair.

They stayed that way in comfortable silence for another couple of minutes before the lift doors opened again and Scotty stepped out. “Sorry for the wait, Captain.”

“No problem, Scotty,” Jim declared, standing from the chair and stretching. “The  _ Enterprise _ is yours for the next few days, take care of her.”

Scotty clapped a hand over his heart, eyes going wide in mock offense. “Now just who do you think I am, sir? She’ll be in perfect shape when you get back.”

Jim laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder as he made his way past to the lift. “Of course she will, Scotty.” Spock stepped into the turbolift behind him and the doors slid closed. He gave an order and they began moving.

“The  _ Enterprise _ is in remarkably competent hands, Captain.”

Jim started. He knew Spock would never use his telepathy on him without his permission, but sometimes it was uncanny how much the Vulcan seemed to know of his thoughts. He relaxed against the wall. “I know. It’s just never easy to give her up.”

Spock stayed silent as the lift came to a stop and they both stepped out. The door to the conference room was open, and Jim could see Sulu and Bones sitting on one side of the table, laughing about something. Uhura and Chapel were sitting next to each other, Uhura with her head on Chapel’s shoulder. They were a dozen steps from the door when Jim felt a hand on his shoulder. He stopped, and turned to Spock, quirking his eyebrow in a silent question.

Dark eyes met his own and held them. For a long moment, it seemed as if the universe narrowed to an infinite hallway and the two of them standing there, solid and real. Then Spock dropped his hand and the feeling drifted away, picked up by the ever-flowing current of time.

Spock nodded to the conference room, and Jim had to blink a few times before he remembered how to move. He offered the Vulcan a smile—a strange mix of emotions fluttering in his stomach—and then stepped into the conference room.

. . .

“—and we’ll be met by Ambassador Hchun on the planet when we beam down,” Jim was saying to the assembled away team. It was the same briefing he and Spock had planned together the evening before, and as such, Spock allowed himself to divert a fraction of his attention from Jim’s words to his appearance and demeanor.

He knew without asking that Jim had not slept well the night before, and he doubted that there had been a single day in the last eight that had resulted in a sufficient amount of rest for the man. Despite that, Jim’s words were energetic, and he was gesturing as he spoke. There were faint bags under his eyes, but Spock knew from experience that they would be hidden behind concealer when the man changed into his dress uniform. If there was more weariness in Jim’s shoulders than was typical, he doubted the Ewlean would notice. No, Jim looked the part of an exemplary starship captain, and Spock would do his best to ensure he remained that way.

He blinked, forcing his mind to focus back in on the conversation at hand. 

“Remember, today is going to be the standard diplomatic stuff—tours, a dinner, and a speech. The Federation already has a strong planet with Ewle, so friendly questions about cultures are encouraged and expected; in a few days, Ewle will be the newest member.”

There were murmured words of understanding around the table. Uhura caught his eye, a small smile on his face, and he knew she had noticed his attention drifting. He mentally chided himself, redoubling his focus. 

“Is there anything I forgot to cover, Mister Spock?” Jim asked, turning to him.

“A simple reminder, Captain,” Spock responded instantly, grateful for his ability to accurately divide his attention. “The common form of a respectful greeting on Ewle is similar to a bow. The right hand touches the left shoulder and the left hand touches the right elbow while bending at the waist.”

Jim’s face split into a smile as he snapped his fingers. “Of course! Think you can handle that one, Bones?” he joked.

“Very funny, Jim.”

The grin sobered. “This mission is volunteer-based. If there is any point before your trial that you want to back out, let me know. Ewle is friendly territory, and as important as this is, we won’t be starting any wars by not participating in the trials.” Unexpectedly, Jim turned to him, eyes thoughtful. “That applies to you, too, Mister Spock.”

Spock inclined his head, and something warm filled him. He and Jim both knew, of course, that he would not leave the planet while Jim was still on it, but he appreciated his  _ ashayam’s _ thoughtfulness regardless—if only the man would apply the same principles to himself.

The rest of the away team shared that sentiment, it seemed. Looking around the expressions of those at the table, Spock was reminded of how humans had achieved space travel. Sheer stubbornness and a refusal to believe that they were incapable placed them in the stars long before their technology made it a logical course of action. The people who sat here now, his friends and crewmates, were no exception to that. Indeed, they exemplified it. It would take far more than a threat of discomfort to keep them from their exploration.

“Alright then. Be at the transporter room in an hour and fifteen minutes. Our luggage is being beamed down separately.”

This time, Spock stood with the rest of the away team, pausing only a moment by Jim’s side before leaving the room. Doctor McCoy would want to speak with the man, he knew, and there were still a few more things he had to prepare before he left the  _ Enterprise. _

. . .

“What was that between you and Spock in the hallway?” Bones asked, rolling his chair over to Jim’s.

“Hm?” Bones rolled his eyes, and Jim couldn’t help the small spark of satisfaction in his chest at the movement. He loved his friend, but annoying him was too easy. 

“Just seems like he’s been...different lately around you.”

Jim stiffened in his seat. Had news of Spock’s slip-up made it all the way down to Sickbay? “It’s nothing, Bones. We’re both just a little stressed about the trials.”

The way Bones’ eyebrow climbed told Jim he didn’t buy his excuse, but thankfully he didn’t press the issue. “I don’t know why I bother,” he grumbled. Then, his eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “When we get off that planet, you aren’t leaving Sickbay for at least a day.”

“Nothing’s even happened yet! Do you have so little faith in me, Bones?” Jim asked, pasting on a grin he knew his friend would see right through.

“It’s not about faith, Jim. It’s not even about you being ‘strong enough’ or whatever other nonsense your brain comes up with. Science tells me that an experience like the one you’re about to have is likely to trigger all the stuff you’ve got buried under the surface. It’s normal. I just want you to know ahead of time so that it isn’t a surprise.”

Jim had already done his hair for the day, but he couldn’t resist the urge to run his fingers through it as he leaned forward, eyes closing. “I have done things like this a few times before, Bones, remember?”

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know his friend was frowning. Bones probably had files and frequency charts about those incidents documenting all of his sleeplessness and paranoia and anxiety. His hands fell from his hair and tightened into fists on the table, and it took a conscious effort for him to relax them and open his eyes.

The expression on Bones’ face wasn’t pity—it never had been—but it was sad. They gazed at each other for a few more moments, each replaying conversations they had had hundreds of times before hundreds of missions. Eventually, Bones nodded to himself and stood from his seat. Jim watched him leave the conference room, lingering a few moments longer himself before standing and squaring his shoulders. 

“I’m James T. Kirk, captain of the USS  _ Enterprise _ ,” he whispered into the silence, and some of his tension faded, because with the  _ Enterprise _ came his crew, and with his crew, he could do just about anything.

. . .

The capital city of Ewle turned out to be beautiful, although Jim had trouble focusing on his surroundings enough to truly appreciate it. They had been met by a party consisting of Ambassador Hchun and the four Trial Masters when they had beamed down to the planet, and were now on a tour of the city, with the ultimate destination being the quarters that had been prepared for them. There would be a formal welcome feast later that night, but they would have a few hours to rest first, something that Jim was immensely grateful for.

Unease pressed against his mind even more strongly now that he was standing on the surface of the planet with his own two feet. He tried to force himself to focus on the ambassador’s words—he was providing energetic answers to a number of questions that Spock had asked about one of the buildings they had passed—but the sounds slipped away from him without making any impression on his mind. Eventually, he gave up, relying on Spock and the others to carry the conversation in his stead.

There really wasn’t a reason to be nervous, he knew. The drug had been analyzed and the Ewleans were their allies—this wasn’t a life or death situation by any means. Unfortunately, his mind didn’t seem to care. Maybe if he had beamed down and then immediately been thrown into the trials it would have been easier; his brain wouldn't have had time to overthink every little detail and make all the wonderful connections to his past that it had. This was why he had to resist the urge to laugh whenever someone at Command told him he would make a good ambassador.

Eventually, the tour ended, and Jim found himself standing in the middle of a room with four beds. He vaguely remembered thanking the ambassador for the tour and accepting the key to the quarters, but if someone had quizzed him on what had happened in the last forty-five minutes, he would have failed. Stars, he couldn’t afford to be like this at the feast tonight!

“There’s another room with two beds in it a little further down the hallway,” Nurse Chapel’s voice called.

Jim shook himself once, shoving all of his anxiety and other thoughts into a deep place in his mind and locking the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spock quirk an eyebrow, but the Vulcan didn’t say anything, and Jim stepped out of the room and into the hallway, where Bones, Sulu, Chapel, and Uhura stood. 

“There are four beds in this room. Uhura and Chapel, you want to take the other?”

The women shared a glance and then nodded. “Alright, let's get situated and then meet back in the front room in an hour or so to go over the briefing for the dinner. There are a few cultural things I want to make sure we get right tonight.”

The group murmured their agreement and filed off, Uhura and Chapel to their rooms, Bones and Sulu mentioning something about finding a kitchen or pantry. Jim headed back to the bedroom where he would be sleeping.

It was a spacious room, with two beds along opposite walls. There was a door in the back wall that Jim figured led to a bathroom, as he hadn’t seen any others in his short exploration of their assigned quarters. The entrance to the complex had led to a sitting-room-like space and then down a flight of stairs to a large hallway where the two bedrooms were located. There was another flight of stairs on the opposite end of the hallway, and he could hear Bones stomping down them now as he and Sulu explored deeper. All in all, they were good accommodations, far better than many places he had stayed while planet-side.

If only they were above ground. 

He sighed and fell back onto one of the narrow beds closest to the door. It was surprisingly soft and he felt some of the tension ebb away, melting into the comforter. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay here for the rest of the day, and after a few minutes, he forced himself to sit up.

Their luggage had been beamed down separately and was piled along the back wall, and he swung his feet off the bed to grab his. Then he paused, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

Kneeling on the ground between his bed and the other on this wall, was Spock. The Vulcan was meticulously arranging his meditation mat and incense. Jim watched his movements, entranced by the careful precision Spock put into everything, even something as simple as unrolling his mat. He wasn’t sure Spock would bring his meditation supplies—he often meditated without them on away missions such as these—but he was glad he had.

Spock must have felt his eyes on him, for he turned, still kneeling, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“It’s nothing, Mister Spock,” Jim said, standing from his bed. “It’s just good to see you brought your meditation supplies.”

“As it is highly probable that I and the rest of the away team will be under a considerable amount of stress over the next four days, I thought it the most logical option,” Spock answered. There seemed to be a fraction of a second of hesitation as if the Vulcan was going to add something else, but the moment passed.

“Of course.” Spock turned back to the wall, moving to set up his incense burner, and Jim crossed the room to their luggage. He had only a single bag of clothes and toiletries, along with his personal PADD, and he unpacked quickly, putting the clothes into the small dresser at the foot of his bed and sliding the bag under the bed after taking out his PADD. 

There were a few messages on it, and he read through them carefully, leaning against the pillows as he did so. They were mostly just reports from Scotty on the state of the ship and a few last-minute things from Command. Apparently, the final negotiation, which Spock would be in charge of if the trials went according to plan, was going to be recorded and released on the holonet for Federation citizens to watch. 

“Have you seen the message from Command?” he asked, scanning the report for a second time.

“Are you referring to the message regarding the negotiation ceremony, Captain?” Spock asked, drawing Jim’s eyes up from the PADD and over to where Spock sat, cross-legged, on his bed, boots placed neatly at the foot and PADD in hand.

Jim couldn’t help the small grin that pulled at his lips. Spock looked so...relaxed. If there had been a desk in the room, Jim had no doubt that’s where Spock would be, but Jim felt as if he were seeing a side of the Vulcan he rarely had the chance to witness. It almost made this entire trip worth it.

“That’s the one. Are you still okay with taking the role of negotiator?” Jim knew Spock disliked being the center of attention. It didn’t make him uncomfortable—his friend had stated several times before that Vulcan’s were not affected by such circumstances—but it wasn’t where he preferred to be.

“I am.”

Jim’s grin widened. “Of course.”

  
They fell into silence then, but it was a comfortable one. When it came time to brief for the dinner, there was energy zipping underneath Jim’s skin, and some of the bounce in his step had returned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Not a terribly eventful chapter, I know. 
> 
> Thank you to all of the wonderful people who have left me comments on the last few chapters! I've really appreciated it!


	7. Feast and Famine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew is greeted with a feast in their honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

The feast was held under the stars in an open courtyard. Four long tables were set up for the Ewlean officials and citizens with another at the head for the _Enterprise_ crew, the ambassador, the head speaker of the Ewlean senate, and the four Trial Masters. 

Although there had been a significant amount of ceremony surrounding the beginning of the feast, once the event had begun, Spock found that the Ewlean were easy to engage in conversation with, regardless of their status. He was seated with Ambassador Hchun on his right, Jim on his left, and the Trial Master in charge of the ‘cultivation’ portion of the trials directly in front of him.

“And how often do these cycles occur?” Jim was asking the Trial Master.

“There is no regular timetable,” she answered, and Spock nodded. The largest religion on Ewle—although not the only religion—was centered around cycles that began and ended with certain signs, such as the appearance of a meteor, a death in a certain position of the government, or the birth of a child with a particular birthmark. “However, they do proceed in order. The translations are difficult in your language, but we are currently in the cycle of…” she hesitated, the scales around her eyes seeming to shiver as she searched for the right word, “innovation. It is a time of experimentation and expansion, which is why we have sought entrance to the United Federation of Planets.”

From the corner of his eye, Spock saw Jim nod enthusiastically. “Your last cycle was a cycle of reflection, wasn’t it?” This time, it was the ambassador who answered, and as he explained the details of the cycle that had just ended, Spock turned the majority of his attention to his captain.

It was good to see him interacting so animatedly with their hosts. There had been something troubling Jim during the tour of the city, causing him to be more withdrawn than he typically was. Several times, Spock had had to force himself not to fall in step with his captain and attempt to ascertain the source of his thoughts. He would never do so telepathically without Jim’s permission—his entire being turned cold at the thought—but he couldn’t deny that his mind seemed to seek his _ashayam’s_ with increasing frequency of late. 

And how could he not? He had melded with Jim five times over the course of their mission thus far, and each time it was only the knowledge that they had a duty to perform that had given him the strength to pull away. Even interacting with the surface thoughts of Jim’s mind had been transcendent. To submerge himself in his _ashayam’s_ being entirely...it was a tempting thought.

Spock blinked once, bringing his attention back to the present. Jim was still talking with the ambassador, a small smile on his face that lifted some of the weight from Spock’s chest. 

“Earth has an extremely varied climate depending on your location on the planet, but in general it sees more rain that Ewle does. Mister Spock is from Vulcan, though, which has a climate more similar to your own,” he said, and Spock nodded, forcing his mind to the topic on hand and not the way Jim’s eyes seemed to reflect the stars above them.

“Indeed,” he replied, turning to the ambassador. “Much of Vulcan is desert-like, but there are areas similar to the grasslands you have here.”

The Trial Master spoke up. “And how did your ancestors handle the intense heat? Did they build underground as we did?”

Spock considered the question for a moment before stepping into an explanation of his people's ancient architecture and the logic behind their choices. From the corner of his eye, he could see a soft smile resting on Jim's face, and soon enough the man joined the conversation, adding his own knowledge of building habits of people in similar climates on Earth.

The feast lasted for two hours and twenty-seven minutes, at which point the head of the Ewlean senate stood, her robe-clad arms spread. "Tonight," she said, although Spock heard the word in Standard through the translator and not in the native tongue she spoke, "we have welcomed four Federation representatives and their companions to our world. They have boldly accepted the task of participating in our sacred trials, despite having far less preparation than most. Four days from now, we hope, we expect, to sit with one of them and pledge all of Ewle to the Federation, that we might both be made stronger in the alliance. Let us grant our new friends Prosperity!"

As one, the Ewleans in the courtyard rose and placed their hands in the positions of a traditional Ewlean bow. The ones on the high table turned toward the away team and bowed deeply. "May safety and success be your shade," they intoned. The away team bowed in return, although to a lesser extent, as the briefing had instructed. The process continued throughout the courtyard, one table at a time until the away team were the only ones standing. They bowed a final time and sat.

A soft murmur filled the space, and from what little Spock could pick up, it seemed the Ewlean had not expected them to be so well-versed in their traditions. A small glimmer of satisfaction rose in his mind, and he allowed it to shimmer there for a few moments before pushing it away. The head of the senate rose again, this time turning to Jim.

"We thank you for your presence, Captain, as we thank your Federation for its offer of friendship," she said, and Spock was struck by the honesty in her tone. He had expected, when the briefing had first been delivered by Admiral Sheen, that the Ewlean would have ulterior motives. The existence of the trials and their persistence despite the lack of preparation on the part of the _Enterprise_ crew had suggested to him a people who were concerned with ritual beyond the extent of logic and who sought an alliance with the Federation out of mere convenience. On this occasion, he was satisfied that he had been incorrect in his judgment.

"Rest now. Ambassador Hchun will retrieve you in the morning, and the Trial of Cultivation will begin." 

. . .

Spock sat cross-legged on the floor between his and Jim's beds, settling into a light meditation as the others prepared for sleep. The noise of the three men moving around the room and in the bathroom beyond did not bother him as it might once have—he had grown used to many things serving aboard a starship—and he was able to clear his mind and focus on strengthening his mental shields.

His meditation prior to the feast had allowed him to sort and analyze the influx of information and sensations that had come with their arrival on Ewle, which meant that it was much easier for him to achieve a deeper level of meditation now. Carefully, he turned his thoughts away from the superficial and to the substantial, to the feelings and impressions that would have the greatest impact on his rest and performance in the following days.

As had been the case since The Realization—and for some time previously, although he had not noticed it—Jim occupied a significant portion of these thoughts. He was concerned for Jim. Now that he knew why his _ashayam_ was so averse to the drug, he illogically wished to protect him from this duty. He confronted that desire, accepted it, allowed it to fill his mind. It was logical for one to protect those they cherished, and Spock would strive to do so whenever possible. This, however, was not something he could hide Jim from, nor would Jim wish him to. He took hold of that thought, pushing life into it until it overshadowed his earlier desire. His need to protect and shelter remained, but he would not allow it to interfere with his duty to his captain and to Starfleet.

Beyond his worry for Jim lay no small amount of wonder. Ewle was a fascinating world, one he would make an effort to study at the conclusion of their mission here. The culture on the planet was diverse, but there was a unity present in the mindset of the people that was rare to see among worlds. Would the trials reflect that? 

The thought brought him to the core of what he needed to resolve before he would be able to rest properly—the trials. Since the first briefing with Admiral Sheen, he had meditated extensively on them, but he was self-aware enough to know that the frustration he felt at the lack of information would not vanish until the trials were complete. It was simply too large of an issue for him to dismiss so easily. However, he was able to subdue that frustration, to counter it with the information that he did know and a mental review of the performance records of his fellow crewmates. He did not enjoy making guesses or bets, but he would be hard-pressed to find a situation in which the crew of the _Enterprise_ had not prevailed. Coupled with the nature of the Ewlean that he had witnessed thus far, he was able to put his frustration to rest for a time, and when he opened his eyes he felt centered and calm.

. . .

Movement from the corner of his eye drew Jim's attention up from the dim light of his PADD. He watched as Spock stood from his meditation in a fluid movement, picked up the folded sleep robe on his bed, and crossed silently to the bathroom. The door opened, a crack of light filling the room, and then closed just as quickly.

The room was silent. Across from him, Bones was hunched over a PADD of his own, likely containing medical reports from the ship since they had left. In the other corner, Jim could just make out Sulu’s form on his bed, blanket already in a tangle around him. Good, he would need his rest for tomorrow.

Spock returned a few minutes later, now dressed in a dark-colored sleeping robe that Jim had only rarely seen him in. They exchanged a nod in the almost-darkness, and then the Vulcan settled into his bed, pulling the covers up and turning on his side. 

Jim turned his gaze back to his PADD. He knew he should try and sleep soon—Bones had harped about it on the way back to their quarters, the hypocrite—but the weariness in his body wasn’t matched by his mind. Besides, he needed to get caught up on the state of his ship. With that thought in mind, he closed the report he had just finished reading and moved to open another. His finger was over the button when he heard,

“You’ve been gone for less than a day, Jim. Nothing’s gone so wrong that it needs your attention right now.” Bones was sitting up in his bed, the PADD in his lap illuminating the faint scowl on his face. 

Jim grinned, the expression tired. “Let me guess, there was a major surgery that needs _your_ attention since we left,” he teased quietly.

The scowl deepened, but Jim knew there was no real anger behind the expression. The two of them had always been like this, and Bones knew himself enough to know his own bad habits. “Yeah, well I’m not a trial representative, am I?”

Unfortunately, Bones had a point. As much as Jim’s brain was still running at what felt like at least warp five, he needed sleep. The trial tomorrow was supposed to be Sulu’s, but until they got the details that could easily change, and either way he was the captain—he needed to be alert tomorrow.

He powered his PADD off, the screen fading and leaving the room even darker than before. “Your turn.” Maybe the words were a little juvenile, but they made Bones roll his eyes and turn his own PADD off with a quiet grumble. “Good night, Bones.”

“Go to sleep, Jim.”

He smiled into the darkness and shook his head before leaning over to drop his PADD onto his bag with a quiet thud. Then, he collapsed back against his pillows and closed his eyes, silently hoping he would be able to drift off to sleep without too much trouble.

. . .

_A heavy stench floated over Jim like a malevolent cloud, filling his lungs with putrid air and making him cough and retch. He forced his eyes open and then instantly shut them, not wanting to see the walls of the room he was in._

_Breathe. In. Out. In again._

_Something grabbed his arm and his eyes flew open, a scream dying halfway up his throat. Whatever it was that had a hold on him seemed to swim in and out of his vision, its skeletal limbs leading to a shadowy body and a face with features that seemed to shift every time he tried to focus on it._

_He pulled against the creature’s grip, but its bony hand tightened, digging into the flesh of his arm. It hissed something at him and a strange burning sensation began to spread across his skin out from where the fingers touched him. He looked down and saw that his flesh was rotting before his eyes, pulling away from his bones._

_He pulled harder, panic pushing adrenaline through his veins and this time the creature’s grip broke. Without thinking, Jim started running, out of the dilapidated room and down a hallway and creaking stairs and out the door. He didn’t stop until he was three streets away, his chest heaving as he gasped for air._

_The stench followed him._

_The sky here was clear and the sun shone brightly, illuminating the sidewalks but not seeming to reach through the thin flannel Jim wore to warm his skin. He leaned against a building and risked another glance down at his arm. It was small and skinny but not rotting._

_He leaned his head against the brick wall and sighed. Then, his stomach growled. He ignored it and it growled louder. Then, before he could do anything else, an aching pain started in his stomach and quickly spread until his entire body was one long groan of agony. He tried to push off the wall and collapsed instead, his body suddenly too weak to move. His head connected to the concrete, and the world went dark._

. . .

Spock woke slowly. He pushed himself onto his forearms and blinked as he waited for his internal chronometer to reassert itself. 03:32. He did not need to be awake for another hour and forty-three minutes. Why, then, had he woken?

His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and he swept his gaze over the room cautiously. Across from him, Sulu was asleep on his bed, one leg hanging off the mattress. His eyes turned to Doctor MccCoy, and he was surprised to see the man sitting up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before freezing, gaze locked on something across from him.

_Jim was floating between stars, pain flaring so brightly in his body he thought maybe he was one of them. Was a life of solitary agony the destiny of every star?_

Urgency suddenly filling him, Spock turned to where his captain lay. Jim was curled up on the bed, knees tucked tightly to his chest and covers thrown to the floor. That in and of itself was not unusual, but the keening sound coming from him was. In an instant, Spock had moved from his bed to kneel at Jim’s side without commanding his limbs to do so. His hand hovered a centimeter from Jim’s skin before he snatched it away, eyes wide.

He would _not_ meld with Jim without his consent. He could not.

_He was sitting in a cramped loft, too-skinny knees pressed against his too-skinny chest, not daring to breathe as booted feet passed below him._

The sound of Doctor McCoy’s steps grounded him, and he focused on their fall as the man crossed the room. Jim flinched as if he had been hit, and then curled tighter in on himself. “He’s having a nightmare,” the doctor explained, voice rough from sleep. “I can try and wake him, but I doubt he’ll be able to go back to sleep if I do.”

It took Spock three point seven two seconds longer than usual to register the words in his mind. 

“I could calm him with a mind meld, but I will not do so without his consent,” he whispered, eyes not leaving the pale, sweat-slicked face of his _ashayam._ “In his current state, his thoughts and emotions would overwhelm my shields.” 

From the corner of his eye he saw Doctor McCoy nod. “Figured as much. Anything else you could do with that mumbo-jumbo of yours? Jim hasn’t slept well in days—he needs whatever rest he can get.” Across the room, Sulu turned over in his sleep. 

_He was shuffling along in a line of people, hunger gnawing at him and fogging his brain. The woman in front of him turned, her face a void._

Spock frowned, uncaring of the emotionalism in the expression. “I will attempt a low-grade connection. It will not be enough for me to redirect his mind, but it may allow me to send...suggestions across without opening myself to his thoughts.”

He could feel the hesitation from the doctor. Then, Jim let out a low groan of pain that seemed to resonate in Spock’s mind like a sour chord and he acted on instinct, his hand going to Jim’s as he closed his eyes and focused on peace, on the sound of the _Enterprise's_ engines, on the way his mother’s garden smelled in the spring, on chess games and quiet laughter. In his sleep, Jim’s hand tightened on his, and Spock choked back a gasp and redoubled his efforts until the grip relaxed and Jim’s breathing began to even out.

_He was...safe. Warm. Loved._

Slowly, he extracted his hand and turned to look up at the doctor, grateful for the darkness that shadowed his expression from the man.

“I don’t know what you did, Spock, but I think it worked. Go on back to sleep; I’ll keep an eye on Jim.”

The thought of leaving Jim sent daggers into his side. “Vulcans require less rest than humans, and I have meditated twice in the past twenty-four hours, in addition to the sleep I received. Rest, doctor. If there is any change, I will wake you.” If he had been more human, he might have admitted to the pride that flickered in his chest at how level his voice was.

The doctor held his gaze for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Alright, Spock.”

The man shuffled back to his bed, but Spock hardly noticed, his entire attention focused on the even breaths of his _ashayam._ He settled into a cross-legged position and regulated his own breathing, falling into a sort of waking trance, his eyes never leaving Jim’s face.

An hour and forty minutes later, the man began to stir, and Spock quickly stood and turned to his own bed, preparing his clothing for the day. He heard Jim yawn and stretch behind him and call a greeting to Sulu, who was also slowly rising, and the tension that Spock had carried through his night vigil faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Tarsus angst begins. Or continues, I suppose. What did you think of the chapter? Originally this chapter wasn't going to exist, but when I sat down to write it just kind of happened, and here we are.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Trial of Cultivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The away team faces the first of the Trials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of quick things—first, please just ignore how inconsistent my capitalization of the word 'trial' is. It's a mess, I know. Second, this is the first of three chapters I have prewritten. I'm currently working on my OMS fic for the challenge in November, but I'll post one chapter of this story every Saturday until I'm back to working on it again.

"Alright, today's trial is the Trial of Cultivation," Jim said, glancing around at the away team. They were seated around a long table, a breakfast of fruits and some kind of oatmeal-like thing in front of them. Jim had barely touched his food, but that was normal. "We've planned for Sulu to be the Federation representative on this one, but we don't know the full details yet." He turned to Sulu, who was biting into what looked like an apple, but more oblong and with dull green skin. "Remember, you can back out if you want to, Hikaru."

Sulu wiped off the juice on his chin and shook his head with a smile. "I'll be fine, Captain. I've been doing some research on Ewlean plants and animals, and so far there hasn't been anything too strange."

Jim held his gaze for a moment longer and then nodded. He then turned back to the rest of the table. "I'm not sure how the viewing procedure is going to work or if there will even be anything for us to view. Uhura, your trial is tomorrow, so I want you to conserve your energy as much as you can today."

She nodded.

"Ambassador Hchun should be here in the next thirty minutes. Is there anything else we need to address?"

"After you're finished eating, I want to run a tricorder over you again, Sulu," Bones said. "It'll give me accurate readings to compare against later today."

"Understood, Doctor."

Jim nodded at the pair of them. There was something in Bones' eyes when he returned the nod, but Jim dismissed it as stress over the trials. He would hate to be in his friend's shoes, knowing that they were all about to take a hallucinogenic drug with uncertain effects and not being able to do anything to help. 

"If that's everything, you're dismissed." Chapel, Uhura, and Bones all stood from the table, taking their plates with them to the kitchen just off of this room. Sulu grabbed another one of the apple-like fruits from the center and then did the same, pausing briefly by Jim's chair to flash a smile.

There was quiet for a moment, broken only by the sound of Spock's spoon hitting the side of his bowl as he ate. Jim stared at the far wall across from him, not really seeing the landscape mural that was painted there. He had known that it would be difficult to allow his crew to take the trials at all, but he hadn't expected the way his stomach seemed to churn like there was a hurricane spinning in his gut. He itched to order Sulu to stand down so that he could take the trial—and the drug—in his place. It was a reckless thought, illogical even, and he knew that. Stars, the Academy had never prepared him for things like this...

"Are you not hungry, Captain?" The sound of Spock's deep voice pulled Jim from his drifting thoughts and he looked over at his friend, blinking in confusion. "I asked if you were not hungry," Spock eventually repeated, nodding at Jim's still-full plate. "Your body requires nutrients."

Jim shrugged, forcing his lips into a small grin. "Nerves kind of shot my appetite, Spock," he replied lightly. "I've got a few ration bars in my bag though, and I'll bring one with me when we leave."

Spock's lips twisted downward a fraction. On anyone else, the expression would have hardly been noticeable, but it was the closest the Vulcan got to a true frown. "Captain, I—"

Whatever Spock was going to say was cut off by Bones poking his head through the doorway that led to the kitchen. "Jim, you done eating?"

Jim glanced at his plate and then at Spock. "Yes."

"Come here, I want to run a scan on you, too."

"Why? You took one before the feast yesterday," he asked as he stood, carrying his plate into the kitchen. Bones followed him. If he noticed how little Jim had eaten, he didn't say anything about it.

"Because I said so, Jim."

For a moment, he thought about arguing further, but it wasn't like Bones wanted to do a full physical. "Fine. Have you already done Sulu?" 

"I will in a few minutes. He said he wanted to double-check something about one of the Ewlean gardening techniques."

Jim nodded, putting his now-empty plate in the sink, and then turned to follow Bones back up the stairs and down the hallway to their rooms. He took a seat on his bed and waited as Bones ran the tricorder over him a few times.

"You feeling alright?"

"Hmm? I'm fine, Bones. It's been almost twenty-four hours and I haven't injured myself at all—you should be proud of me." Jim grinned as Bones grumbled something about reckless Starfleet captains under his breath. Then the doctor looked down at his tricorder and nodded to himself before putting the device away and turning his attention back to Jim once more.

Somehow, the gaze seemed more exposing than the tricorder had been. 

"Do you remember the nightmare you had last night?" he finally asked, and Jim felt himself go cold.

"No.” Panic raced through him, and he clenched his hands into fists. “Did I wake anyone? Did I disturb Sulu?"

"Just me and Spock, but I wasn't really asleep yet," Bones replied. "It looked bad, but not the worse I've seen. You don't remember any of it?"

Jim shook his head, guilt settling in his stomach. He should have known that he would have nightmares while on the planet. He could have taken one of the couches in the front room, and then he wouldn't have woken anyone. "You didn't need to wake me up?"

"I was going to, but you needed your sleep. Spock managed to do some kind of pseudo-meld to calm your brain back down. Said it wasn't deep enough to see any of your emotions and whatnot, but whatever it was, it worked."

Spock had been in his head? No, that wasn't entirely true. There were a couple of things that Jim knew for certain, and one of them was that Spock would never invade his privacy without permission if his life wasn't in danger. Still, he had done something, and Jim was grateful for it.

Bones looked at him for a few moments longer, as if trying to decide whether or not to say something else. Eventually, he shook his head. "I'm going to run a scan on Sulu. Make sure you eat something before we leave."

Jim nodded and watched his friend exit the room, thoughts swirling in his mind.

. . .

Spock stood at attention just behind Jim's shoulder as they listened to the Trial Master explain the Trial of Cultivation. He could sense the tension radiating off of the man, but he doubted the Ewlean would notice. The rest of the away team was less tightly-wound, although their faces were solemn. 

"—test of your representative's ability to cultivate living organisms, but it will also be a test of their wisdom and judgment," the Trial Master who would be presiding over the event was saying. "As in all aspects of life, cultivation is about making decisions that lead to the greatest benefit."

Spock saw Sulu nod as if the man had expected the words, and perhaps he had. Since the  _ Enterprise _ had received its latest mission, Sulu had spent over half of his available free time in the labs, learning about Ewlean cultivation techniques and studying the plants of the planet. It was far from a complete knowledge, of course, but it was considerable, especially when the time constraints he had been under were considered.

"The trial area has been prepared and contains everything your representative will require. The hallucinations will be a large portion of the trial, but the physical surroundings will be equally important. Your Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel may remain 'on-call', as you say, in a nearby room in case your representative should be injured." Spock saw the doctor shift and knew without looking that his expression was one of shrouded displeasure. "Following the trial, your representative will be returned to your ship. You now have one standard hour to decide who will participate in the Trial of Cultivation. Should you reach your decision sooner, the device on the wall to your left will contact us." The Trial Master bowed and then exited the small room, the door sliding shut after her.

For a moment, there was silence, and then Jim turned and clapped his hands together with slightly more enthusiasm than the look in his eyes suggested. "Well, she didn't mention death or maiming even once, so I'd say that's a good sign!" Sulu, Uhura, and Chapel chuckled.

"Don't you dare jinx us like that," Doctor McCoy threatened, his voice almost a growl. "I still don't like this hallucinogen, and I don't like that I can't sample it before they inject someone."

Jim's expression sobered. "I know, Bones, but this is how it's got to be." He turned to Sulu. "Do you still want to do this?" he asked.

"I know what I'm getting myself into, Captain," Sulu responded, smiling. "I'm ready. Besides, I promised Chekov I'd tell him what it was like."

A chuckle escaped Jim, and he looked almost surprised by it for a brief second before the expression passed and he shook his head. "Of course you did. Well, is there anything else we need to cover, any way you want to prepare before the trial?"

Sulu shook his head, as did the rest of the away team. "Alright then." Jim crossed over to the communication device on the wall and pressed a button.

"We're ready. Lieutenant Sulu will be the Federation's representative in the Trial of Cultivation," he declared. There was a moment of silence and then,

"Very well. Lieutenant Sulu and the medical officers may exit the room now." The door that the Trial Master had exited from slid back open. "The remaining representatives will be retrieved in five minutes."

Spock watched Jim turn away from the device on the wall and share a look with Doctor McCoy, who nodded slightly. Then, the man's attention shifted to Lieutenant Sulu, and he smiled. "I'd wish you luck, Sulu, but I doubt you'll need it."

"Thanks, Captain."

The away team fell silent for a moment, a million thoughts passing without speech through the still air, and then Sulu turned toward the door, Nurse Chapel and Doctor McCoy only a few steps behind. The door closed behind them. 

Spock stepped forward, allowing his shoulder to brush Jim's as he moved to stand at his side. Logically, Spock knew there was very little that he could do to remove the tension in the man's shoulders or the worry that lined his eyes while any of the crew faced these trials, but that would not stop him from attempting to do so. 

. . .

Jim looked down at the arena-like room and tried to keep the unease that swirled in his stomach from showing on his face. Ambassador Hchun had arrived five minutes after Sulu and the others had left and brought them to a kind of viewing box that sat above what reminded Jim far too much of a Roman arena, although considerably smaller in size. It was maybe seventy meters long and forty wide, ringed with seats that were filled with Ewlean citizens. In the center of the room was a make-shift garden that had been created for the trial.

There were a number of plants that Jim recognized from his review of Ewle, and even more that he didn't, although he doubted Sulu would have the same problem. There were also a number of empty plots in the garden. In all, it looked far less dangerous than the name 'trial' suggested, but that did little to reassure him.

Jim rolled his shoulders in an anxious movement and glanced around the room he sat in. It was small but comfortable, with three chairs turned to face the window-wall that looked over the arena. He had taken the seat in the middle out of habit, and now Spock sat to his right and Uhura to his left. He was about to ask Uhura if she had slept well last night—anything to take his mind off of what he had just allowed Sulu to do, what he should have done himself—when a soft beeping sound drew his attention back to the window wall in front of him. 

Or at least, it had been a window wall the last time he had looked at it.

Now, the wall shimmered, and as he watched the scenery changed and he realized he was looking in on another room, not unlike the one they were in now. In it, the four trial masters and Ambassador Hchun were seated. 

"The Trial of Cultivation will begin shortly. The screen on which you are viewing the Trial will display the actual surroundings of Representative Sulu as well as the reality that his mind sees, to the best of our ability. May he go with wisdom and prudence."

The screen shimmered and then changed once more to display the arena below them. Jim looked over at Spock. "I wasn't aware that the...hallucinations would be visible to everyone," he said, and although he tried to keep his tone conversational, he knew Spock could hear his unease. 

A not-frown pulled at Spock's lips. "Nor was I, Captain. However, it explains the ability of the Trial Masters to judge the worthiness of the representatives."

"Captain."

Uhura's call pulled Jim's attention away from Spock and back toward the screen in front of them. Sulu now stood in the middle of the garden, dressed now in some kind of ritual robe similar to the ones the Trial Masters wore. They were too far away for Jim to see Sulu's face, but his stance seemed confident. 

After a few moments, Sulu stepped forward to a container off to one side of the garden and retrieved some kind of gardening tools, and went to work on the garden. As Jim watched, he began to realize which of the plants were real and which existed only in Sulu's mind. The hallucinations shimmered slightly whenever Sulu interacted with them. Aside from that, they were virtually identical to the other plants. 

Sulu worked diligently, taking his time with each plant, and walking up and down the rows several times, leaning in to examine a leaf or stem and working there for several minutes before moving on. Jim felt himself beginning to relax. He knew, of course, that Sulu had been the best choice for this trial, but watching the man work eased some of the lingering doubts in his mind. He still wished that he had been able to take the drug first, but so far it didn't seem to be doing Sulu any harm.

The Trial continued as it was for the next hour and a half or so, with Sulu carefully tending to each plant. As Jim watched, he was struck once more by the skills of his crew. Sulu wasn't a member of the biology department, and although he had taken several biology classes at the Academy, he had been Command track. And yet he had found the time to follow a passion of his and that passion was helping them establish a relationship  _ with an entirely different species on an entirely different planet _ . It was incredible.

A sudden movement came from one of the plants in the arena, and Jim saw Sulu's mouth open in a yell. One of the plants, a large vine snaking up the side of a tree had attacked Sulu. Jim turned to Spock, hoping the Vulcan's eyes had caught the details despite the distance. 

"Lieutenant Sulu was attacked by one of his hallucinations," Spock explained before Jim could ask. "However, I believe he has sustained an actual injury, although minor, through some means in order to make the trial more real." 

Jim felt his face begin to flush with anger, but he pushed the feeling back and locked it up right alongside his helplessness and doubt. "Why? He's been doing everything right so far."

This time, it was Uhura who answered, speaking for the first time since the Trial had begun. "Cultivation is about life, but life doesn't exist without death," she murmured, eyes fixed on the arena below them where Sulu was now cradling one of his arms and slowly walking around the vine. "It's Sulu's job to decide what lives and dies."

Sulu was now standing just out of reach of the vine hallucination. Then, he picked up the watering can—or at least Jim assumed it held water—at his feet and carefully stepped forward to pour water at the base of the tree. After a moment, the vine snaked downward, towards the water. Sulu emptied the can along the vines and then backed away slowly until he was level with a bag of fertilizer. He kept his eyes trained on the vine as he crouched to pick it up and carried it back to where the vine grew. He spread it around the base of the tree with slow motions and then stood back again. The vine stayed where it was.

Another minute passed, but when the vine still didn't move, Sulu nodded to himself and continued deeper into the garden.

After about thirty minutes of Sulu watering and fertilizing plants as well as cutting back parts of them or providing stakes so that the top-heavy plants wouldn't fall over, he stopped. Once again, the distance was too far for Jim to determine what exactly was happening, but he could see that the tree Sulu stood in front of was a different color than the others around it, a strange blackish grey.

Sulu seemed to gaze at the tree for several minutes, slowly walking around it, looking at it from every angle. As he did so, Jim began to suspect what it was he was seeing. The tree was infected somehow, and that infection would likely spread to the other plants in the garden if it wasn't taken care of. Life and death. 

Despite the distance, Jim could see the heaviness in Sulu's shoulders as he made his way back across the garden to where the chest of supplies stood and pulled out a spray of some kind. Then, he made his way back to the infected tree and placed the canister on the ground, walking around it once again as if he were searching for a way to save it. He ran his hand down the bark and pulled a few pieces away—they shimmered in his hands; the tree was one of the hallucinations—holding them up to the light and examining them. Then, he dropped them and picked up the canister and began to spray the solution inside over the tree. The entire hallucination fuzzed and changed as Jim watched, withering and dying at an unnatural rate. 

As the last leaf fell to the ground where once a tree had stood, a chime rang through the arena loud enough to be heard in their room and the screen shimmered and switched to the view of the Trial Masters' room. "The Trial of Cultivation has been successfully completed," the Cultivation Trial Master declared, raising her arms. "Representative Sulu has demonstrated that the Federation values the preservation of life whenever possible while recognizing its duty to protect the whole. He will receive an antidote for the drug and may then be transported back to the  _ Enterprise _ ."

The screen went dark, and there was silence for a moment before Uhura laughed, the clear sound breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen. "Well, that's one down, Captain!" she exclaimed. "Chekov is going to be jealous he didn't get to see it."

Jim smiled, relief flowing through his veins. One down indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks out from between fingers* How was it? I'm ridiculously insecure about the trial chapters, so if you hated it please let me know why and I can maybe fix the next few. Idk. If you liked it, I'd also like to hear some specific feedback if you have any. I've been getting lots of good reviews on this story, and I'd like to keep up the quality so that it's worthy of the nice things y'all have been saying!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading!


	9. Trial of Artistic Expression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock helps Jim find rest, and Uhura faces her trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow my tumblr (@herenya-writes), you might have seen a post a few weeks ago about how my Biology professor inadvertently helped me write fanfiction. This is that chapter lol.

Spock walked down the cool hallway of their assigned quarters, his feet carrying him toward the kitchen area. It was late, the Trial and celebratory feast having both concluded hours before, and the space was quiet, although none of the away team was asleep yet. As he neared the kitchen, he heard the murmur of two voices speaking softly. Nyota and Nurse Chapel.

He stepped inside. “Ah, Spock, come join us for a cup of tea,” Nyota requested. “I think you’d like the blend.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you, Nyota, but I do not wish to disturb you and Miss Chapel.” It was evident that the two women—both perched on one of the counters, their hands that weren’t holding their mugs interlocked—were in the middle of something private. 

Both women smiled. “At least make yourself some tea,” Chapel insisted, and Spock obeyed, striding over to the cabinet and beginning the process of making himself a cup.

“Spock, do you think that my trial is going to be like Sulu’s?” Uhura asked after a moment.

“In what way?” 

“The choices. I’m sure I’m capable of making them if I need to, but I’m not sure how the Ewlean would interpret those kinds of things in terms of artistic ability,” she explained. Spock turned to face her fully.

“I do not know, however, I do not believe your Trial will contain the same type of choices that Lieutenant Sulu’s did,” he answered honestly. “Regardless, you have no reason to worry. I am confident in your ability to complete your Trial no matter its content.”

He watched Nurse Chapel squeeze Nyota’s hand briefly. “I told you so, darling,” she said, and Nyota leaned her head against the other woman’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Spock. It’s just performance anxiety, but it’s nice to hear your reassurances.” 

Spock nodded and finished making his tea. He was a step away from the exit when Nyota called his name again, and he turned back, raising an eyebrow slightly. “If you’re looking for the captain, you might try the front room,” she said, a knowing expression on her face, “I saw him heading that way earlier.”

Spock blinked. He had not intended to seek Jim out—he needed to meditate after the stress of the day—but perhaps… “Thank you. Rest well, Nyota, Christine.” He nodded to each of them and then quickly exited the kitchen, heading for the front room.

When he reached it, the only light illuminating the space was the light from Jim’s PADD, which was lying beside him. The man himself was seated on one of the couches, staring at some unknown point in front of him. He did not seem to register Spock’s presence.

Slowly, he stepped into Jim’s line of sight, not wanting to startle the man to suddenly from whatever thoughts he was currently drifting in. Jim blinked when he did so, his face shifting from thoughtfulness to confusion to understanding in a second. “Ah, Spock, I didn’t see you there. Have a seat,” he gestured to the side not currently occupied by the PADD, and Spock obliged, sitting next to the man, careful to keep space between them. “Is there something you needed?”

A good question. Why was Spock here? He didn’t know, aside from the fact that today had been difficult for Jim, and he desired to comfort his  _ ashayam. _ But how? Eventually, he settled for saying, “You should be resting, Jim. It is 22:47.”

Jim chuckled, and Spock could hear the weariness in the sound. “I’ve still got a few reports to go over, Spock, but thank you for your concern.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. He knew for a fact that there were no reports requiring either his or Jim’s attention, as he had completed the last of them twenty-two minutes and eight seconds ago. “You do not desire to repeat the dreams which disturbed you last night, so you are avoiding sleep.” It was a statement, not a question, and Spock waited patiently for Jim to acknowledge the truth. Finally, the man nodded.

“I’m sorry for that, by the way. Bones said I woke both of you up and you had to do some kind of meld to get me to settle down. I know those aren’t something you like to do lightly.” Jim’s eyes were fixed on the fabric of the couch beneath them, and despite his shields, Spock could feel the guilt and unease pouring off of him.

“Your apology is both unnecessary and illogical. I melded with you of my own free will, and I have no regrets as it was able to help you achieve restful sleep,” he stated, his voice firm. He would not allow his  _ ashayam _ to believe he did not deserve his aid. 

Jim was silent for several moments. “I don’t really expect the dreams to be bad tonight—I got a report from M’Benga that said Sulu had a headache for an hour or so and had to get a cut on his arm healed, but he’s fine otherwise. The Trials don’t seem to have had an ill effect on him, and I doubt it will be any worse for Uhura. The Ewlean weren’t lying when they said this wasn’t life or death for us.”

“But dreams are rarely logical.”

A long sigh fell from Jim’s lips, and he sunk against the couch. “But dreams are rarely logical,” he echoed, voice heavy. Then he seemed to remember that he wasn’t alone and sat up straighter, a forced smile twisting his lips. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Spock. I don’t want to keep you from your meditation.”

The tea in Spock’s hands was beginning to cool beyond the point of being palatable, but he did not notice. “Jim. You are not keeping me against my will. Let me help.”

Jim blinked, eyes swirling with emotions and questions that Spock could not have begun to decipher even if he gazed at them for a hundred years. “There’s not much to help with,” Jim finally said with a bitter chuckle, “unless you can tell my brain to kindly shut up for a solid eight hours.”

Spock put only a negligible amount of effort into attempting to conceal his frown. “I could meld with you in an attempt to quiet your mind, but I do not believe I would be able to fully shield myself from your thoughts and emotions.” They had both experienced too much stress recently.

“Thanks, Spock, but I’d rather not.” A silence fell, and Spock felt the couch dip and shift with Jim’s uneasy movements. 

“I could guide you through a simple meditation.” 

Jim stilled.

“There would be no connection between our minds, but my hearing would allow me to listen to your heartbeat and breathing and help you achieve a state of peace.” He let the offer linger in the air, unhurried. Perhaps Jim would decline, as was his right, but if there were even a slim possibility that he would be able to help his  _ ashayam _ , he had to offer. It was only logical.

A minute stretched into two, almost three before Jim spoke. “I can’t promise I’ll be any good at it, Spock, and I don’t want to waste your time, but I’d like to try.”

. . .

Jim stared at Spock, who sat cross-legged on the floor across from him, not quite believing the Vulcan was real. He wasn’t sure why it surprised him so much that Spock had offered to help him meditate, but it did. This was something that was so uniquely  _ Spock _ and not the kind of thing he expected the Vulcan to share with his captain just because he might have a few nightmares. But here they were, sitting on the floor of the front room—Bones was asleep in their shared room, and Jim was too relieved to see the man actually resting to risk disturbing him—Spock’s incense and candle in between them. 

“It would be illogical to attempt to teach you all I know of meditation in a single evening, or at all,” Spock said, his deep voice barely above a murmur and yet clear as day. “The techniques that work for me will not all be equally beneficial to you, as our minds are constructed differently. You are a man of action, even in your thoughts. However, I will attempt to help you calm them and relax your body.”

Jim nodded.

“First, focus on your surroundings. Notice where you are, allow yourself to feel the ground and smell the incense and hear my voice. You may close your eyes if you wish.” Jim did so, and tried to do as Spock directed. The ground beneath him was hard, but not unpleasantly so, and the almost spicy scent of the incense seemed to drift through his mind like a miasma. Over it all was Spock’s voice, anchoring him to reality.

“Notice your breaths; attempt to even them. As you do so, your heartbeat will slow.”

Jim had tried meditation a few times over the years, and he had never been able to find the peace everyone promised would come from it, his mind far too active to slow at his direction. For some reason, it didn’t seem so hard with Spock nearby.

“The first step to peace is recognition of that which keeps you from it,” Spock said after several minutes. The sound startled Jim, but he quickly relaxed again, allowing his friend’s voice to roll over him. “You would not expect to triumph over an enemy you cannot identify, and your mind is the same. What is it that keeps you from peace, Jim?”

‘ _ Fear, guilt, anxiety, memories of a time when I had no control,’  _ he answered silently, the words coming almost immediately. There had been a time when admitting that much to himself would have taken at least half an hour—if it happened at all. Well, if nothing else came of tonight, at least he knew he had improved.

Spock seemed to sense that he was ready to continue. “Now, you must accept that these things exist. You need not embrace them or be content with their existence, but you must accept their presence in your mind.” 

Jim frowned slightly. Accept? Wasn’t the point of all of this to make the noise go away, not invite it in? But he trusted Spock—endlessly, instinctually—so he focused on his breathing, focused on the emotions and memories that swirled in his mind and tried. It wasn’t easy. He was the captain of a starship, and that meant that even when everything was on fire and three seconds from exploding he had to keep a level head. Often, that involved shoving unwanted thoughts and feelings into a place so deep he could pretend they didn’t exist until he needed them. 

He took a few deep breaths, in and out, and ventured carefully into that corner of his mind he had been doing his best to ignore. It was dark and uncomfortable, pressing against him on all sides as if it was about to swallow him whole. But it existed. His experiences on Tarsus, his past mistakes, his current guilt and frustration and anxiety were part of him, just as much as his penchant for speeches and easy smiles were. 

It took him much longer, but eventually, he was able to leave the door to that dark corner open just a crack. It wasn’t much, but it was an acknowledgement at the very least. 

“The mind alone does not make up the whole, and your emotions affect your body as well,” Spock rumbled, his voice seeming to drift with the incense into Jim’s mind until it was threaded through him as much as his own thoughts were. “Catalog these effects.”

As if Spock’s words had woken a part of Jim’s brain that had been lying dormant, he suddenly felt the tension in his shoulders and the headache that throbbed behind his eyes and the way his jaw unconsciously clenched and his stomach seemed heavy. Had he really been walking around like this all day?

“You do not deserve this pain, and you do not need it. Convince yourself of this. How would you consult a crewmember who suffered as you do?” There was something in Spock’s voice, a note of emotion that Jim couldn’t place but that he knew was significant. “You are a compassionate man, and you are worthy of the care you show to others.”

Something in Jim seemed to melt at those words. They didn’t fix everything, of course, but it was as if they lit a candle in his chest that he could use to slowly thaw the ice that these feelings had steadily coated his mind in. 

Sulu was fine. The drug hadn’t had any lasting negative effects, and the report he had gotten earlier from the man had been threaded with excitement and pride more than anything else. Even though he was the captain, he couldn’t do everything, and he was blessed to have a crew like the one he did. 

Tarsus was a horrible experience. But he was a child, and a child cannot be held accountable for the sins of those who failed him. He survived, and that was feat enough.

Spock was by his side, and he wouldn’t be leaving. He wasn’t alone on Ewle, and he wasn’t alone on the  _ Enterprise _ . Whatever he faced, he would face it with the best crew and best First Officer in the ‘Fleet at his side.

Jim didn’t know how long he spent in his mind, but eventually, his eyes fluttered open, the dark room in his mind a little lighter and the ice mostly melted. It was far from perfect, but it was better. Much better. His eyes found Spock’s in the flickering light of the candle between them, and he smiled, hoping the Vulcan could read the gratitude in his expression. “Thank you,” he said softly. Spock bowed his head. 

“Thanks are unnecessary, Jim.” 

If there was a slight pause before Spock said his name, Jim was too caught up in the quiet warmth between them to notice.

. . .

Nyota walked confidently into the arena, her shoulders square and a smile on her lips. It was the same space that had been used the day before for Lieutenant Sulu’s Trial, but now the plants and gravel floor had been removed and replaced with a stage in the center covered in a variety of artistic implements, including numerous instruments, painting supplies, cloth, potter’s clay, and a microphone. 

Nyota sat on a chair in the middle of the stage.

This trial would be less physical than Lieutenant Sulu’s had been, the Trial Master had explained. The representative would see hallucinations of important scenes in both Ewle’s history and their own and then had to represent them artistically. Nyota, of course, had agreed to be the Federation’s representative without hesitation, leaving him and Jim to observe from the same room as yesterday.

Spock’s eyes shifted to his  _ ashayam _ . To call him relaxed would be a gross exaggeration, but he was more at ease than he had been during the previous trial. Spock too, had to admit that the apprehension he had felt yesterday was largely absent today—Nyota had been given a difficult but straightforward task.

The flickering of the viewscreen in front of them redirected his attention, and he turned to see that Nyota was now surrounded by four robed Ewlean—hallucinations. They seemed to be deep in discussion with one another, although Spock could hear no sound from the arena below. As one of them took a step forward and spread her hands to the sky, he realized he was likely witnessing one of the first meetings of the group that paved the way for the main Ewlean religion.

The four figures talked for several minutes before fading away. Nyota frowned and then stood and crossed to the side of the stage where the musical instruments were gathered. Several of them were in the Ewlean fashion, although a number of instruments from Earth had been included as well, he noted with some degree of surprise. 

“There’s no limit on how long she has to create her song, is there?” Jim’s voice broke the silence in their small room. “Or on how long it has to be?”

Spock shook his head as Nyota reached down to claim a harp. “There is not. However, any sound she makes will be considered part of the performance, and there is no set number of hallucinations she will experience. The trial must be completed by the time the moon rises.”

Jim hummed, his eyes on the arena below, and another silence fell. Strange, the comfort Spock took in it on this unfamiliar planet. Or perhaps not.

His musing was broken off by the first notes of a song being plucked on the harp Nyota held. The Ewlean must have a microphone in or near the stage that relayed its signal to their room. 

The song Nyota played was a variation on a Vulcan piece he had taught her when he had first learned of her ability. Originally, the piece was meant to accompany a vocal performer recounting the history of the Reformation and rediscovery of Surak’s teachings—an appropriate subject matter for the vision Nyota had seen. It was not an exact rendition, however; Nyota added a number of runs and gave the song a more triumphant and hopeful spirit than the original. 

When the piece was finished, she laid the harp to the side and sat with her hands in her lap, waiting for another hallucination. 

From the corner of his eye, Spock saw Jim shake his head, a grin slowly slipping across his face. “Best crew in the whole damn ‘Fleet,” he whispered to himself, still grinning. Then, he turned to Spock, eyes bright. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s part siren.”

Spock did not refute the statement. A few moments later, there was movement on the viewscreen, and they turned away. 

The scene on display now was far from a peaceful one. In front of the stage where Nyota still sat Ewlean clashed. There seemed to be three separate forces of nearly equal sizes, although the hallucination blurred around the edges, the specific details of the individuals generic and undefined. The battle—fought with projectile weapons similar to those found on Earth in the early twentieth century—lasted seventeen minutes and thirty-nine seconds. When it was done, less than a dozen Ewlean were left standing, and they gazed at the carnage around them for a long moment before disappearing. The blood and gore vanished with them.

This time, Nyota took considerably longer in selecting her instrument of choice, and Spock could see tears on her cheeks. Eventually, she decided on a set of handheld drums and returned to her chair, remaining still, eyes closed, for fourteen minutes and eleven seconds. Then, she began to tap out an aggressive beat on the drums, steadily growing faster and louder as she played. As suddenly as she had started, she stopped. The silence lasted a beat, two, three, four, and then she began to sing. It was her native tongue—the Ewlean had said any language was allowed—and the words were powerful and haunting. A warning. A memory.

Over the next five hours and forty-one minutes, Nyota experienced fourteen more hallucinations, performing for each. The majority were scenes from Ewlean history, such as the founding of the council, First Contact, a deadly volcanic explosion that had destroyed half a continent. Five of them, however, had been scenes from Nyota’s own life. Three from her childhood and two from her time aboard the  _ Enterprise. _

Of those concerning the  _ Enterprise,  _ the first had been her promotion to Chief Communications Officer and her first day as part of the bridge command crew. That had been accompanied by a lively, triumphant song on a guitar, accompanied by her voice. The second had been far more recent. Her and Christine Chapel holding hands as they walked in the  _ Enterprise _ arboretum. The following song had been a cappella, a soft ballad in what Spock thought was Italian. 

When her voice drifted away for the final time, Spock could feel the silence in the arena. Nyota frequently stated that music was a universal language, and looking at the faces of the Ewlean that he could see—there were far more people in the stands today than there had been for the previous trial—he was inclined to agree. 

Nyota’s throat and fingers were likely sore from her extended performance, but none of that showed on her face when the Trial Master announced the completion of the Trail. Instead, she stood and smiled, bowing slightly before the viewscreen flickered and turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Did you like the meditation nonsense that nearly doubled the original length of this chapter? Some of you might be thinking that Uhura's trial was too easy. You are, unfortunately, incorrect. Uhura is fabulous and excels at pretty much everything.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! This story has gotten a lot more attention than I ever expected it to, which is marginally terrifying. Comments give me life in the stressful time that is project season, so I'd appreciate any you decide to send my way!


	10. Trial of Leadership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They face the Trial of Leadership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the others have been, I think. I hope you enjoy it!

Surprisingly, Jim managed to get eight whole hours of sleep again. He had sat down with Spock and meditated beforehand—he wasn’t sure if it was the meditation or just sitting in Spock’s presence that calmed his mind so thoroughly—and had a blissfully dreamless sleep. But now he was awake, and his brain was running at Warp 6. 

He blinked hard, forcing back the memories that were flashing inside his mind like an old horror movie on fast forward. If he gave into it all now before he’d even had breakfast there was no way he’d make it through the Trial. 

Instead, he slid out of bed. He shivered when his bare feet hit the cold floor, but the sensation grounded him so he didn’t bother to pull on his boots as he made his way to the kitchen. He doubted he’d be able to eat much, but Spock had said that the tea the Ewlean had was good, and he could at least hold the warm cup in his hands if nothing else.

He had just set the kettle—or at least something similar to a kettle—boiling when he heard footsteps. Turning, he saw Bones rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, still dressed in his pajamas like Jim was. “Morning, Bones.” He didn’t try to inject any false happiness or excitement into his voice, but he did smile at his friend. “Want a cup of tea?”

Bones looked almost offended at the suggestion. “It’s bad enough that the Ewlean apparently don’t believe in coffee, now you want to poison me with hot leaf juice? No thanks. I’ll stick to water.”

Jim chuckled and leaned against the counter. “You’re up early. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

The man shook his head and walked over to the pantry where he rummaged around for a minute before emerging with some kind of pre wrapped breakfast bar. “Nah. Didn’t sleep well last night and I figured I might as well be productive.”

Jim hummed. It was obvious Bones wasn’t going to elaborate on what had kept him up, but he didn’t really have to guess. For all his gruff mannerisms, the country doctor was incredibly empathetic and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be restless the night before an away mission or conference or other important event, regardless of whether he was personally involved. The kettle began to whistle, and Jim turned his attention back to it, pouring the hot water into his cup and breathing deeply.

They stood together quietly for several minutes, Jim slowly sipping his tea and Bones chewing his breakfast bar. When Bones had finished, he disposed of the wrapper and then turned to Jim, the last traces of sleep now gone from his face. Jim sighed internally and steeled himself for the conversation he knew was about to come.

“There’s no need to tense up like that, Jim, I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t go. I just wanted to know whether you think Chapel or I should beam back aboard with you this afternoon. Spock’s not going to need both of us.”

It took Jim’s brain nearly half a minute to process that Bones wasn’t trying to talk him out of the Trials. “Let Chapel beam up. M’Benga can take care of anything that’s wrong with me, and I’m sure she’d like to see Uhura,” he said finally. “Plus, if something goes wrong tomorrow, you know more about Spock’s physiology than she does.”

Bones nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll let Sickbay know to expect the two of you later today.”

He turned as if to leave the kitchen. “You really aren’t going to say anything else?” Jim wished he hadn’t spoken as soon as the words left his mouth—gift horse and all that—but when Bones turned back around, his gaze was even—not pitying or angry or worried.

“Jim, I know I don’t always act like it, but you’re my captain, and I trust you. Spock was right when he said you were the logical choice for the leadership trial, and you’ve said you’ll be able to handle it. I think that might be an exaggeration, but you’ll do what you always do and soldier on regardless, and at the end of the day you’ll be fine. Or at least fixable.” His eyes narrowed. “If you aren’t I swear I will kill you myself.”

The words were oddly comforting. “Thank you,” he said, hoping Bones could hear the depth of his gratitude in his voice. He hated being treated like he was two seconds away from shattering like some kind of teacup, and Bones knew it.

Bones snorted. “You can thank me by actually eating something. Despite what Spock might say, you can’t live on leaf juice alone.”

Jim nodded. He didn’t really feel like eating, but the Ewlean seemed to last on two meals a day—there hadn’t been any lunch breaks at any of the previous trials—and considering he still didn’t know what he’d be facing, it was smart to get  _ something _ in his stomach. 

He felt Bones’ eyes on him as he made his way over to the pantry and searched for whatever it was his friend had been eating. When he turned back around, breakfast bar in hand, Bones rolled his eyes and left the room with one final admonition to eat.

Peeling back the wrapper, Jim took a small bite and chewed slowly, his mind drifting.

. . .

When Spock woke, the first thing he did was look over at Jim’s bed to ascertain his captain’s status. It was empty. He pushed onto his forearms, worry thrumming through his veins but relaxed again when his ears picked up the sound of footsteps moving down the hallway and to the kitchen. For a moment, he thought about following, but he held himself back. He did not want to appear unsettled and thus trigger the same emotions in Jim. 

Instead, Spock rose from his bed and crossed to the bathroom, quickly going about his morning ablutions. As he did so, he slipped into a kind of moving meditation to shore up his mental shields; it was doubtful that he would have the time for a proper meditative session before the Trial began today. 

Settling the roiling emotions of his mind was more difficult than it should have been, but he allowed himself some measure of grace, a trait he attributed to the time he had spent in Jim’s company. By the time his mind had cleared an acceptable amount, he had washed and dressed for the day, the feeling of his uniform against his skin a tangible reminder of his duty and the reason for their presence on this planet.

He was looking over the reports regarding the Trial of Leadership on his PADD when Jim walked in. The man was still dressed in his sweatpants and t-shirt, and there was tension in his back and shoulders as he moved, but he appeared well-rested regardless, which Spock was grateful for. “Captain,” he greeted, nodding to the man.

“Morning, Spock,” was the reply, in a voice more subdued than was typical of the man. Spock was grateful for it, however, as it meant Jim was not trying to cover whatever negative emotions he was currently experiencing with false happiness as he so often did.

Spock watched as Jim gathered his clothing and stepped to the bathroom, then he turned his attention back to the report in front of him. It held few details that would be useful, and he had reviewed it four times in the past forty-eight hours, but he could not stop himself from scanning the words again, searching for some clue that would allow him to aid his  _ ashayam. _

He became so absorbed that he did not notice Jim exit the bathroom until the man was standing beside his bed and peering at the PADD. Spock felt something in the air change between them, and he looked up to meet Jim’s eyes. “Jim—”

“I’m going to be fine, Spock,” he said, quietly cutting off what was certain to have been a feeble explanation. “I appreciate the concern though.”

A thousand thoughts ran through Spock’s mind, but he said none of them and instead bowed his head, turning off the PADD and putting it aside. “Do you wish to gather Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel?” he asked after a long moment, his eyes never leaving Jim’s. “We are due to depart in forty-seven minutes.”

Jim blinked, and the connection between them broke. “Yes. We should go over what we know about the Trial one more time, and I want to make sure we have tomorrow’s plan in place as well.” A smile suddenly appeared on his face. “Although I’m sure I don’t need to worry. I might charge headlong into danger, but you’re the one who manages to make things right in the end, Mister Spock.”

Before Spock could make a reply—Jim was once again underestimating his abilities as a negotiator and mediator—the man turned away and left the room. Spock stared after him, mind churning.

. . .

Jim resisted the urge to shift on his feet. As had happened the last two days, they had arrived at the arena and been taken to a small room underground to wait for the Trial Master. Being underground at all was unnerving for him, but with the anxious anticipation that thrummed through his veins now it was nearly unbearable. Still, he tried to limit his fidgeting. Bones and Spock had been shooting glances at him the entire way here—he didn’t want to add to their worry if he could help it.

After what seemed like hours but couldn’t have been more than five minutes, the door opened and one of the Trial Masters stepped through. “Greetings, Representatives. I am the Trial Master overseeing today’s Trial,” he said, bowing in the Ewlean fashion, a gesture the crew returned. “The Trial of Leadership is the most intensive of the Trials and will involve a combination of Ewlean history and events and events from the mind of the chosen Representative. In order to succeed in the Trial, the Representative must show understanding of the meaning of leadership in a myriad of situations.”

Jim could feel Spock and Bones one either side of them, both standing a little closer than they normally did. Even Chapel was nearby, arms crossed in front of her as she regarded the Trial Master. He appreciated the support more than he could say.

“The drug used in the trials reacts differently to every person, but it has been common in the past for Representatives to face a hallucination similar in some way to a moment in their life when their leadership skills were sorely tested.” The man paused, his gaze passing over first Spock and then Jim where it lingered as he continued, saying, “This is often a turning point in the Representative’s life, although not always. You have one standard hour to choose your Representative.”

The Ewlean bowed once more and left, robes swirling behind him as the door closed.

Jim clapped his hands together and forced a smile onto his face. He hadn’t needed the false cheer earlier, but his chest was heavy with a million emotions—none of them good. “Alright, anything you need from me Bones, or should I go ahead and call?"

Bones' face pulled down into a frown, and Jim grimaced inwardly. Maybe he had overdone it with the clapping. "Jim, slow down for a moment. I don't like that bit about this being the most intense trial. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, leadership can be tested in more ways than the others can," Jim answered, trying to keep the energy in his voice. "It makes sense." In truth, he was just as worried as Bones was. Would the hallucinations be more vivid for him? What would he see? He thought he already knew the answer to that last one, but he pushed the memory away. If he was going to have to relive that hellscape there was no point in rehashing it now too. 

"Captain." 

Jim turned to the sound of Spock's voice and was met with a carefully blank expression. Over the years he had spent serving with the Vulcan, he had become an expert at reading the minute details of Spock's face to get a hint at what he was thinking, but now it was perfectly empty of any signs. His chest tightened. Spock only got like this when he was worried. The last time he had seen it, he had been bleeding out.

"I request permission to take your place in this trial," he said, hands behind his back in a perfect parade rest.

Jim blinked. "Request denied, Commander." He felt a sort of betrayed anger starting to build in his stomach. He knew he was messed up in the head some, but did his friends really trust him so little? Just a few hours ago Bones had been saying that he trusted him to come out of this intact, but now he didn't? Nothing had changed, not really. So the Trial was going to be intense. He had figured that would be the case anyway.

"Captain, of the two of us, my past contains fewer traumatic experiences regarding leadership."

"Neither of our childhoods were all sunshine and roses. I survived it once, I'll do it again," Jim replied, his voice curt. "Now, if there's nothing else, I'd like to get this over with." He stepped toward the intercom on the wall but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. He spun around, a rebuke on his lips, but Spock cut him off.

"Your hallucinations, whatever they may be, will be on display for all present to see. I—"

Jim pulled away from Spock's grip. The anger had finally pushed its way past the other emotions to cause his voice to shake. "You worried I'll make a fool of myself?" he asked, hands clenched into fists at his side.

"No,  _ ashayam _ , I simply desire to—"

"That's enough, Commander Spock," he snapped, and Spock pulled away completely, something rigid falling over his already blank face. Jim held his gaze for a few moments longer, seething, before turning away. 

He took a deep breath and pushed back his anger—he was doing  _ such _ a great job at this leadership thing—before striding over to the intercom and punching the button. "The decision has been made. I will be the Federation Representative for the Trial of Leadership."

"Very well. You and the medical officers may exit the room now, Captain. Commander Spock will be retrieved in five minutes."

The door in the wall slid open, and Jim allowed himself a breath before striding through without looking back. He could feel Spock's eyes on him until the door closed again.

. . .

Spock was spiraling. He was sitting in the viewing box—alone, the chair next to him glaringly empty—hands clenching the armrests of his chair so tightly it was almost painful. He had, on the journey to the box, attempted to calm his mind to no avail. It was flashing with images of his  _ ashayam _ suffering, interspaced with the anger he had seen in Jim's gaze. 

Not long ago he had told himself that he would not stop Jim from doing as he wished, regardless of their relationship status, and it had been a lie. Even as nothing more than his First Officer, Spock could not resist the urge to shelter Jim and keep him safe. It was illogical. It was insubordinate. And now Jim was entering his trial with anger and resentment in his mind instead of the confidence that would have come had Spock simply supported him as was his duty. 

His thoughts continued on the same track— _ Jim was alone, and he had done nothing to help him _ —until the changing of the screen in front of him pulled him sharply from them. "The Trial of Leadership will begin shortly," the Trial Master declared, voice solemn. Then, the screen changed again, revealing the arena below.

He had not noticed the changes to the arena when he had first entered the room, but now they compounded the fear in his chest. The space was entirely empty. In the previous two trials, there had been some form of terrain change or additional props provided. Now, there was nothing but the gravel floor of the arena, which meant that all of the details would come from Jim's hallucinations. 

He took several deep breaths, regulating the fear that clawed at his insides. Jim was more than capable of succeeding in this Trial. He would prevail as he always did and return to the  _ Enterprise _ where he would receive any medical care he required and would be safe. Jim would be safe.

The fear remained.

. . .

Jim stepped out into the arena, squinting against the bright light. Suddenly, he was grateful for the loose robe he had been given to change into. If he had stayed in his dress uniform, he would be in more danger of passing out from heat exhaustion than whatever else the trial would be throwing at him.

The arena was empty, just a gravel floor and the crowd above, but he didn't let it phase him. Instead, he strode to the middle and waited for the drug to take effect.

The injection had been simple—the Ewlean used a delivery system similar to hyposprays, and Jim had pretty much built up an immunity to those by now—and had taken place just before he had stepped outside, so he figured it would be a few moments before it properly circulated, although with how fast his heart was beating right now the process was sure to be quicker.

What would he see? Would he be able to remember that it was a hallucination? He should have asked Sulu or Uhura what it was like. As soon as the thought made itself known, the scenery around him suddenly changed.

He was standing on sandy ground—but he could feel the gravel underneath and wasn't  _ that _ confusing—surrounded by Ewlean who seemed to be wearing some kind of armor. At the far end of the arena, another group about half the size of his own was huddled, weapons held defensively. Their armor was emblazoned with what looked like a sun on the front, whereas his group had some kind of flag on their arms.

Alright. Leadership. That was the goal, right?

He turned to the Ewlean nearest to him, brain scrambling to recall what he had read about Ewlean military tactics and ranks. The weapons were primitive though, and the positioning of the two groups didn't make sense for this to be an actual even from Ewlean history. A wargame then?

"Report on the enemy position," he said, adopting his I-am-the-captain-of-the- _ USS _ - _ Enterprise _ voice. The Ewlean responded, and just like that, Jim fell into his role. 

Three hallucinations passed in a blur of movement and shouting orders and planning, and adrenaline began to pump through his system. Fear and anxiety still nestled in the back of his brain, but as he rolled out of the way of some kind of phaser-fire—he wasn't sure if he needed to, but he figured it wasn't good for a leader to just stand there and get shot—they were overshadowed by anticipation and excitement. 

He jumped to his feet and waved his arms at the Ewlean to distract him as three of his own soldiers came at the man from the sides and cut him off. He stepped up to the now-prisoner, intending to ask some standard tactical questions when one of his men pulled out a knife and held it to the prisoner's throat.

"He was part of the group of cowards that ambushed our camp at Thri-ess!" he snarled, eyes wild. "He deserves to die, here and now!"

Jim took a slow step forward. None of the hallucinations had dealt with insubordination so far, but it was only a matter of time, he supposed. "You and I both know that isn't the way things are done," he said, keeping his voice level as he scanned his memory of the Ewlean justice system. From what he could remember, it was similar to the Federation's—they wouldn't have been allowed to join if they didn't uphold the same values after all—and that included trials with legal representation, even for military crimes.

"This man has the right to a trial with representation before any kind of justice is dealt, soldier. Now put that knife away so that we can see this done right."

The soldier's grip on the prisoner tightened for a moment before relaxing, and Jim quickly stepped forward and took the knife—or tried to at least. His hand passed through the hallucination. Jim sighed and was about to order the man to drop the knife when the group in front of him and the scenery all vanished. 

. . .

Spock froze. He had slowly begun to relax over the past two hours and thirty-one minutes, but the tension came rushing back as the latest of Jim's hallucinations took hold. He recognized the barren field where his  _ ashayam _ now stood. Tarsus.

A small fire flickered in front of Jim, who knelt beside it, drawing level with the four other scrawny forms huddled around it. 

Jim had not told him much about his experience on Tarsus beyond the fact that he had escaped the mass genocide through a combination of luck and skill and spent several weeks in hiding with a small band of children who had also escaped. Was that what he was seeing now? 

As he watched, Jim leaned forward and seemed to speak to the children. For the majority of the Trial, the microphones hidden throughout the arena had been able to capture the majority of Jim's words, but now the man murmured too quietly for Spock to hear. 

Anxiety and dread twisted in his side, and his fingernails pressed bloody crescents into his palms.

. . .

"Split my food between you," Jim ordered, pushing back the fear that reared in his mind. He wasn't the same scrawny kid who had been on Tarsus now. He was stronger. "And put the fire out."

One of the kids turned to him, and his heart shattered. The flickering light of the flames illuminated a young face, eyes sunken and cheeks too hollow to be healthy. Sylvia hadn't made it off Tarsus. 

"Alright, Jim, but only if you're sure. I don't wanna take your food."

"Nah," he choked out, "it's fine, I promise." Sylvia regarded him for a moment longer, hunger and worry warring in her eyes before reaching out and grabbing the bowl that sat in front of him. The other three quickly split the food while one of them—Riley—stomped the fire out. 

For a few minutes, they just sat there in silence, dread building in Jim's chest. What was he supposed to do? This wasn't a memory of his—they had never camped in the middle of a field like this—so he had no idea what would happen next. How was this testing his leadership? Was he supposed to tell them to move to a more hidden position? The field took up most of the arena, but there were some trees at the far end opposite them...

"I think we should move into the forest," he said, standing. The children looked up at him, blind trust obvious in their open faces. Stars, he had hated that look. He hadn't known anything more than they had when all of this had happened. He hadn't been a leader.

"Okay. Can we finish eating first?" Riley asked. Jim was about to say yes, when he heard the sound of someone walking toward them across the dry ground.

He spun around and saw a group of three men advancing across the field. His hallucination must have just dreamed them up, because they were only two dozen meters away—close enough that he should have heard them sooner.

"Riley, take the others and head for the woods," he said, not looking back at the children. "I want you to all find somewhere to hide. I'll come get you in a little bit."

The children didn't question him. He heard their bare feet slapping against the ground as the dashed toward the treeline, but still he didn’t turn. His gaze stayed on the men who were approaching, large and burly, the armbands they wore marking them as part of Kodos’s detainment force. Except no one ever made it to detainment. 

“Out of the way,” the lead one growled, “Those kids are violating Kodos’s order.”

Jim stayed put. He still didn’t know what leadership aspect this was supposed to be testing, but there was no way in hell he was letting these men past him. Could he even fight them? His hands went right through all the other hallucinations, but stars above he would try. If he could just keep them distracted until the hallucination ended…

. . .

Spock watched as Jim jumped out of the way of one of a charging attack from one of the men. The children were still running for the trees at the far end of the arena, but they were moving sluggishly, as if they had barely any energy left in their emaciated bodies. The dread he had felt earlier had turned to fear, pounding through his veins like an incessant drumbeat, filling his mind and drowning out nearly all other thoughts. 

He tried to focus on the fact that this was a hallucination, that it was not meant to endanger Jim in any way, but that fact seemed miniscule compared to the fear in the children’s faces and the rage in every step the men took toward Jim.

Jim dodged another attack and circled around the men, careful to keep himself between them and the children at all times. His face was a hard mask of determination, and Spock wished he were in Jim’s place.

. . .

Jim’s limbs were beginning to tire. In truth, he should have been exhausted ages ago—he had been going from hallucination to hallucination for what felt like hours—but the thought was of no comfort now. He rolled out of the way of another strike, hissing as he scraped his arm on the gravel. The pain gave him another burst of adrenaline, however, allowing him to jump back to his feet and away from the third man's charging tackle. 

He couldn't go on like this forever, not when he couldn't do anything to stop his attackers. The hallucinations—he had to remind himself that was what they were, that he wasn't back on Tarsus—seemed to have an unlimited pool of stamina. He was fighting a losing battle.

But he would fight it anyway. 

He was a little slower getting to his feet the next time he rolled, and one of the hallucinations barely missed him. "What the hell are you doing?" the man growled as Jim jumped back again. "Fight or get out of our way!"

If he could actually hit them, all three men would have been on the floor by now—there was more than enough rage in Jim's system to put them there. Instead, he ducked under another swing and stepped to the side, twisting out of the way of a wild punch from one of the other men. 

He was avoiding a jab from the third when his foot hit a patch of gravel wrong and he fell. Hard. Pain raced up his leg from his ankle, but he gritted his teeth against it and pushed himself back up. He readied himself for another assault, leaning heavily on his uninjured leg. What would happen if he didn't move out of the way fast enough? Was that enough to fail the Trial?

Thankfully, he didn't have to find out. Tarsus faded around him, replaced by the stone and gravel of the arena once more. 

He allowed himself a sigh of relief, briefly letting his eyes slip closed. When he opened them again, the scenery had changed. How much longer would this last?

. . .

Four more hallucinations. Jim was forced to face four more hallucinations following the Tarsus vision and his subsequent injury, and it was all Spock could do to keep the rage that burned inside him from taking control and usurping his logic. Jim's injury was not serious. If it had been, the Trials would have been stopped. The pain he saw flash across his  _ ashayam's _ face with every other step threatened to break his hold on that logic, however.

Finally, the hallucination Jim was experiencing faded and no other shimmered to life to take its place. A chime rang through the arena, and Spock saw Jim's shoulders slump with the exhaustion he only now allowed himself to feel, then the screen changed to the view of the Trial Masters' room. 

"The Trial of Leadership is now complete. Representative Kirk has demonstrated that the Federation is capable of weighing risks, upholding justice, thinking critically, and sacrificing for the betterment of the weak. He will be administered the antidote and returned to the  _ Enterprise _ along with one of the medical officers."

The screen turned black, and Spock slowly unclenched his fists. His palms were sticky with his blood, but he hardly noticed the wounds. It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Jim survived his trial and Spock is a slightly less nervous wreck than he had been. As always, thank you for your patience with me in getting this chapter out. We're on the homestretch now—I think the final story will end up being 13 or 14 chapters long.
> 
> If you have the time to spare, I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter and the story in general. Thank you for reading!


	11. Trial of Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock faces the final Ewlean Trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's also a little longer than usual. I hope you enjoy it!

The bright lights of sickbay made Jim’s head explode into a thousand tiny, painful suns if he looked at them too directly, so he kept his gaze on the biobed he was perched on. The pounding in his head lessened but didn’t disappear. Bones hadn’t been kidding when he had called that drug a headache cocktail.

“Captain?”

Jim snapped his eyes from the bed to meet M’Benga’s. The man’s expression was professionally calm, but Jim could sense a bit of concern in his warm eyes. Although Bones was typically the one to patch him up when things went wrong, M’Benga knew enough about his past to know that today had been difficult.

“Sorry, doctor, didn’t catch that. Mind repeating?” Jim asked, forcing some cheer into his voice that he didn’t feel. Everything felt so  _ heavy _ .

“I asked if you wanted me to get a dermal regenerator for the cuts on your hand and arms,” he repeated, thankfully not mentioning Jim’s lapse of attention. “They’re shallow, and as long as you bandage them and put on antiseptic, they’ll heal fine on their own.”

Jim looked down at his arms. His left hand, lower arm, and elbow were scraped up from where he had tried to catch himself when he hit the gravel, and his right arm had cuts from where he had rolled out of the way of an attack and caught his arm on a sharp rock he hadn’t been able to see because of the hallucinations. The injuries stung, but it was a familiar sensation and they gave him a visible, physical reminder that he had actually been on the planet and participated in the Trial. 

“How about a dermal regenerator for my hand but just bandages for the rest? Thanks,” he finally said, and M’Benga nodded as if that was the answer he had expected to hear and moved to a cabinet across the room to retrieve the supplies. When he returned and began to work, Jim let his eyes go unfocused and breathed deeply focusing on the sensation of the bandages wrapping around his arms and letting it ground him to the present.

Sleeping was not going to be fun tonight.

. . .

“So, are you going to tell him?”

Spock looked up from where he had been reading the report on Jim’s health. He and Doctor McCoy had returned from the evening’s celebratory feast an hour and seven minutes ago and had each quickly readied for sleep before catching up on the events of the  _ Enterprise _ . Now, the doctor had set his PADD aside and was peering at him through the darkness, face expectant.

“You will have to be clearer in your inquiry if you desire an informed reply, Doctor,” Spock answered, straightening almost unconsciously despite his seated position on his bed. 

The doctor rolled his eyes. “When we get back to the  _ Enterprise _ are you gonna tell Jim you love him?”

Spock’s brain ground to a halt. He blinked into the dim light for several seconds, mind looping the words ‘you love him’ over and over. He shook his head once, pulling himself from his thoughts and refocused on the country doctor across the room from him. The man was looking remarkably smug, eyebrow raised in a poor imitation of Spock’s own typical gesture.

“What led you to the conclusion that such a statement would be factual?” Spock asked, keeping his voice carefully level.

Doctor McCoy snorted. “You know, just because Jim automatically assumes things doesn’t mean the rest of us do. You called Jim you’re  _ ash-a- _ something or rather on the bridge a while back, and when word got down to Sickbay, I looked it up.” Spock closed his eyes. “Seems to me that accidentally callin’ your captain ‘beloved’ is a pretty sure sign you’re head over heels, especially with how controlled you like to be.”

Spock counted slowly backward from ten in  _ Vuhlkansu _ in his mind, pushing the rush of emotions that swelled to the front of his mind aside. Then, he reopened his eyes and said, “I do not intend to inform the captain of my affections. If he requests an explanation of the term, I will supply it, but I will not allow my mistake to affect the friendship that we share.”

The doctor’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He stayed that way for several moments before snapping his mouth closed again, sitting in silence for an additional seventeen seconds before demanding, “Now why on Earth would you do that?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, a cool calm settling over him. This was a decision he had come to some time before, and the logic of it soothed his aching mind. “Taking into account the captain’s preference of partners, the transience of his typical relationships, and the fact that he has given no indication that my affections are reciprocated, it is only logical that we maintain our current relationship,” he answered. They were the best command team in the ‘Fleet, but the ability to work well together in a professional setting did not guarantee the same in a romantic relationship. Their partnership would be an unequal one, and Jim did not deserve any less than someone who could match his celestial splendor. 

The doctor sighed heavily. Spock had not expected him to accept the logic of his decision—he was an intrinsically emotional person—but the frustration in the sound surprised him. “You two are geniuses, but you’re also the biggest goddamn idiots I’ve ever met,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Spock frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Doctor McCoy continued without giving him the chance to speak.

“Jim’s been gone on you for at least a year now, probably longer. I thought you had noticed and were just biding your time and waitin’ for the right moment, but I guess that was too much to hope. The man jumps through every hoop for you, the two of you go on dates practically every night, and I can’t count on my fingers and toes how many times one of you has played the sacrificial lamb for the other. That’s not even counting the little lover’s spat the two of you had this morning. And you’re tellin’ me Jim’s given you ‘no indication’ that he’s in love with you? You’ve both done just about everything but propose!”

It took Spock several seconds to work past the illogical turns of phrase the doctor was so fond of to determine what the man was saying. When he did, however, his frown deepened. “If Jim’s attraction to me is so certain, why has he not spoken of it?” It was Jim who boldly went, who lept without looking.

The words drew another sigh from Doctor McCoy, this one drawn out and colored with sadness. “I know Jim seems like he’s some kind of space-man casanova, but you should know as well as I do that’s mostly just a front. He breezes into relationships with that swagger and those smiles because he and his partner both know it’ll be a whirlwind romance, over before it begins really.” He shook his head. “Now I’m not saying Jim hasn’t loved some of the people he’s been with in the past, because he sure as hell has, but it’s different with you, Spock. You wouldn’t be going anywhere. It’d be real.”

Spock blinked, his confusion only growing. “Your words indicate that the permanence of our hypothetical relationship is a positive factor, and yet somehow also the thing that has kept Jim from action.”

“It’s complicated, Spock. Jim’s complicated. You know that just as well as I do. You’re both standin’ there on the edge of something afraid to jump because you don’t know if you’ll find heaven or hell when you do. But you two’d be good together.” A smile began to pull at the corners of the doctor’s lips. “I might complain about you, but if there’s a better match of two people out there, I’ve never seen it.”

Any reply that Spock might have had died on his lips, and he looked down at the bed he sat on. He did not, he could not, believe the words Doctor McCoy spoke, but that did not stop a small spark of hope from flickering to life in his mind. 

“You should talk to him, Spock.” When a full minute passed and Spock did not reply the doctor sighed, put his PADD away, and pulled up the covers. Within five minutes and seven seconds he was asleep, and Spock was left alone to his thoughts.

. . .

Jim had been right about the sleep. He glanced at the chronometer that sat near his biobed. 02:12. He groaned, collapsing against his pillows once more. He had woken up from his second nightmare that night, and he had only been trying to sleep for three hours. Apparently, seeing hallucinations of one of the most traumatic parts of his entire life made for a bad sleeping environment. Who would’ve thought?

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and sat up slowly in his bed, careful not to move his ankle too much. M’Benga had put all of his bones back where they belonged, but it was still tender and he didn’t want to do anything that would mean he was still in Sickbay when Spock and Bones beamed back up tomorrow.

The thought of Spock calmed him somewhat. If it had been anyone else down on the planet right now Jim would be itching to get back. Not because he didn’t trust his crew to do everything right, but because he needed to be there, needed to be responsible, needed to see it through to the end. But it was Spock, and for some reason, that was different. 

His mind drifted for a while after that. He thought about Sulu’s Trial, Uhura’s Trial, the way Uhura and Chapel had come hand in hand to talk with him after their shifts today. Eventually, though, he settled on the memory of Spock sitting across from him in the front room of their quarters down on the planet, trying to teach him to meditate. He paused. 

He knew, somehow, that that meditation had been successful mostly because it had been Spock leading him through it. But what was the harm in trying? His track record of the amount of sleep he’d gotten to the number of nightmares he’d had wasn’t great tonight, and if it could help he should give it a try. Plus the thought of telling Spock he had actually used his meditation trick and seeing that not-smile pull at the Vulcan’s lips sent something warm through him.

Pushing aside the covers, he carefully situated himself into something vaguely resembling a cross-legged position. Then, he closed his eyes and began to walk himself through the steps Spock had taught him. Slowly, the anxiety and fear that had wrapped around his mind began to loosen and fall away, and he smiled to himself.

. . .

Spock had given up on attempting to sleep and was now in a shallow meditation. It was not as intensive as he would have preferred and did not provide him with the restorative benefits that sleep would have, but it was better than compulsively reading Doctor M’Benga’s report of Jim’s state for the twenty-third time. His mind still turned with all that Doctor McCoy had said, and he was hardly aware of how much time had passed until he heard the man rise from his bed, grumbling under his breath.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times until his internal chronometer reestablished itself. Once it had, he rose and began a series of stretches that would alleviate some of the stiffness that had settled over his body during the night. When he had finished, he readied himself quickly for the day.

He and the doctor ate their breakfast in near-silence. Every now and again McCoy would glance over at him as if to speak before shaking his head and turning back to the meal in front of him. Spock appreciated the quiet. He would need to clear his mind in order to perform the Trial today to the best of his abilities. To do anything else would be a betrayal of the trust that Jim, and by extension the rest of the  _ Enterprise _ crew, had placed in him. 

By the time they had finished their meal, Spock had exerted control over his emotions and mind. He would not allow himself to be distracted today.

. . .

Jim couldn’t keep his leg from bouncing with anticipation. Today was Spock’s Trial, and because it was the negotiation one, it was being broadcasted across the Federation Holonet. M’Benga had released him from Sickbay with orders to stay off-duty for the next two days, so he was sitting in his room, monitor screen open to the broadcast that would be starting soon.

He wasn’t nervous about the negotiations. Spock had talked them out of more situations—that Jim may or may not have caused—than he could count; this would hardly be a challenge for him. He was, however, nervous about what would happen before then. From what Jim understood, the actual negotiations took place  _ after _ the Trial, which meant that Spock would still have to face hallucinations of his own. 

The sound of the Trial Master’s voice drew Jim’s attention back to his screen which now shimmered with the image of the Trial Masters’ room. He leaned forward, silently wishing Spock luck.

. . .

Spock stood at parade rest in the center of the arena. His arm stung slightly where he had been injected with the Ewlean drug, but he ignored the sensation, focusing instead on readying his mind for whatever hallucination he would be faced with.

His Trial was expected to be the shortest of the four, according to the Trial Master. He would face two hallucinations—situations in which he would have to negotiate for a favorable outcome, likely from his own history—and then he would be administered the antidote and complete the negotiations between the Federation and the Ewlean. The final treaty would be signed during a ceremony the next morning, after which he and Doctor McCoy would return to the  _ Enterprise _ .

After several moments, a scene shimmered to life in front of him. Vulcan. He recognized the place, a plateau on his family’s ancestral lands where he had often gone to meditate on days when the walls of his home seemed to press on his chest until he could barely breathe. He settled to the ground, assuming a meditative pose. 

A minute later, a figure appeared in the corner of his eye. He turned, expecting to see a Vulcan elder or his father perhaps. Instead, he was met with the form of his mother, smiling sadly at him. It was an expression he had seen only a few times in his childhood, and even now, hallucination that it was, it caused something in him to tighten. He stood carefully and nodded to the figure that wore his mother’s face.

“You’ve abandoned your humanity, Spock.”

Fascinating. The voice was that of his mother’s, although she had never said those words. Thought them, perhaps, mourned the son he could have been, but never said them. 

“I am not entirely human,” he answered, omitting the title ‘Mother’. “To act as such would be an abandonment of my Vulcan heritage.”

The hallucination frowned and stepped forward. “That’s not what I meant, Spock. Please don’t turn my words around.”

Spock bowed his head in deference and gestured for the woman to join him. They sat facing each other, the red sand of Vulcan a sharp contrast to the light blue robes she wore. After they were both situated, Spock tilted his head slightly. This was to be a negotiation of some kind, and he would need to establish what the woman wanted from him before they could continue.

“If you would not have me abandon my Vulcan nature, what is it that you desire of me?” he asked.

She sighed. “I want you to  _ feel _ , Spock. I want you to realize that you have some of me in you. I want you to look in the mirror and see your Vulcan and Human parts so beautifully interwoven and be satisfied.”

Spock blinked. Those words were remarkably close to a conversation he had had with his mother before, although the location had been different from their current one. That discussion had ended with his decision to apply to Starfleet Academy as well as the VSA.

“I cannot be emotional in the way a human would be,” he said quietly. He was intimately aware of the recording devices that had been set up at the cardinal points of the arena, and discomfort squirmed in his mind. He pushed it aside, however, and continued. “Not outwardly. But I do not despise all emotion. It is dangerous, but the absence of it is equally so.”

The woman shook her head. “You say that, but I don’t believe you. I’ve seen you after Stonn and the others tease you or you struggle with your meditation. Why do you force yourself to be so cold?”

Spock was...unnerved by this hallucination. It did not seem to fit into the category of a ‘negotiation’. “There are many times I find it prudent to favor logic over emotion,” he responded after several moments.

“And are there any when emotion is the right choice? Or are you going to deny that part of yourself forever?” She leaned forward, tears sparkling in her eyes.

Spock resisted the urge to attempt to take her hands in his own. She was a hallucination, and the contact would not allow him to send any comfort or glean any emotions from her. Instead, he bowed his head and thought carefully about what his answer would be.

There were times, when the crew of the  _ Enterprise _ narrowly escaped peril, when he and Jim passed an evening in one another’s quiet company, when he and Nyota played a particularly moving piece, that strong emotions rose to the forefront of his mind and he welcomed them. It had not always been that way, however. 

“It is the correct choice more often than I once believed,” he began, his voice quiet but certain. “During my time in Starfleet, I have encountered too many wondrous things, wondrous beings, to believe that emotion should be shunned. It should be controlled and cautioned, but without it, the universe I have seen would hold no splendor.”

The hallucination smiled widely, nodded, and disappeared, leaving Spock sitting cross-legged on the gravel of the arena floor.

. . .

Jim couldn’t stop the grin that was spreading across his face. A part of him was still nervous that all of this was being broadcasted, but he had just seen Spock—in the most Spock way possible—accept both sides of himself. Maybe he didn’t mean all of the words he had spoken, but Jim doubted it. Even without Spock’s hatred of lying, he had a feeling it’d be difficult not to tell the truth when the person you’re speaking to is a projection of your mother.

The grin disappeared, however, when the scenery around Spock changed. The gravel was replaced by intricately laid stone bricks, starbursting out from the center where Spock stood until they ended in tall columns and covered in a dusting of snow. On the north end between two columns stood two large beings—Shrist—holding Jim’s own figure between them.

That was strange, to say the least. The hallucination of himself was battered, and Jim rolled his shoulder in sympathetic pain. He had no idea if the conversation Spock had just had with the hallucination of Amanda had ever actually happened, but this scene certainly had. 

A little over four months ago they had been exploring a supposedly uninhabited planet—Starfleet needed to work on their definition of uninhabited—when they had been ambushed by the people. They had reminded Jim of the legends of yeti, and they were just as strong. They had lost two security crew members on that trip, and Jim himself had nearly become dinner.

The sound of Spock’s voice drew his attention back to the screen. “Release the captain,” he demanded, voice as level as always.

The Shrist on the right shook his furry head and growled. When they had been on the planet, the words had been filtered by the Universal Translator—although that had been another problem, as the language was similar but not entirely accurate on a few key points—now though, the words were in Standard.

“No! The blonde one has crossed into our territory, and we claim him by the right of Gilsharsh! You cannot have him.” The Shrist’s grip tightened, and Jim’s double grimaced in pain.

Spock took a deliberate step forward. “The captain did not intend whatever offense he caused. Release him so that we may establish a greater understanding of your culture and beliefs.”

Four months ago, Jim had been running his mouth through the entire discussion. The Shrist had sprayed something on him when they had ambushed them, and of course he had had a severe reaction to it that had removed his verbal filter. It had been like getting smashed but without any of the fun. This hallucination, however, stayed quiet, which he supposed made sense. This was Spock’s Trial after all.

“What does the right of Gilsharsh entail?” Spock asked, taking another step forward despite the aggressive stances of the two Shrist.

“We found the blonde one, so we get to take him back to the mountains. He is a gift from the ground!”

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim grinned. “From the ground? Did he not come from the sky?”

The Shrist frowned. “We found him in the snow. He is of the ground, and he is ours.”

“Has a blonde one ever come from the ground before?”

“No. He is special. And he is ours!”

“His hair is blessed by the golden of the sun, not the brown of the soil. You cannot keep him where he does not belong,” Spock argued, and Jim chuckled to himself. He wished he had been coherent enough to hear this conversation the first time it had happened. “Return him to me, and I will bring him back to the sky.”

There was doubt in the Shrist’s eyes as he narrowed them. “How will you take him back to the sky? He cannot fly.”

“Not the way the birds do, no, and yet he soars. You cannot confine him to the ground.” Spock looked around the arena for a moment before saying, “Leave him here, and when you return we will both be gone, with no footprints to show our steps.”

The Shrist looked at each other. Eventually, they nodded and lurched forward, dropping the hallucination at Spock’s feet. “If you are of the ground, we will add your bones to the meal,” they said as if they were explaining that the ground got wet when it rained. Spock nodded, unphased. The Shrist exchanged another glance and then turned away, and the arena shimmered as the hallucination disappeared. Four months ago, the encounter had ended with Spock ordering Scotty to beam them both up as soon as the Shrist’s backs were turned. 

Jim sighed and felt tension he hadn’t realized he had been carrying leave him. Spock’s Trial was over now, at least the hallucination part. There was still the negotiation of the actual treaty, of course, but Jim doubted it would take more than an hour or two to smooth out the final details. They had passed the Ewlean Trials.

. . .

Spock sat at the table that had been moved to the center of the arena, a headache building behind his eyes. He carefully regulated the pain there, clearing his mind as much as he was able in order to focus on the task at hand. He had been handed a copy of the treaty and was now reviewing it along with the ambassador and the head of the senate. 

The negotiations now would be largely ceremonial. The details of the treaty had been determined years before, and Spock had been instructed by Starfleet to suggest only a few minor changes. The needs of the Ewlean as well had likely changed only marginally.

In total, it took only an hour and twenty-nine minutes to come to an agreement on all parts of the treaty, after which the senate leader and ambassador both stood and bowed to him, a gesture he returned. “We extend our congratulations to you and the other Federation Representatives,” the senate leader declared, smiling. “The attributes you have displayed prove that the Federation will be a beneficial partner to Ewle.”

“Thank you. Our alliance will benefit both the Federation and Ewle,” Spock answered. The headache was becoming more difficult to manage, but he managed to keep his voice steady. 

“That it will. We will see you and Doctor McCoy at the celebratory feast in three hours. Congratulations once again.”

They exchanged another set of bows, and then Doctor McCoy was at his side, injecting a hypospray into his neck and complaining about how he should have been allowed to tend to Spock before the negotiations. Spock refrained from comment and allowed the acerbic man to lead him from the arena, silently grateful that the Trials were now complete. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Trials complete! What did you think?
> 
> I've now finished writing this entire fic and will be updating twice a week. There are three more chapters left. 
> 
> I've greatly appreciated all of the fabulous comments I've gotten on this fic so far. Thank you all for taking the time to let me know what you thought and which parts you enjoyed, it really has helped keep me motivated! Thanks for reading!


	12. Sun's Orbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trials complete, Spock and Bones return to the Enterprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why really, but I quite like this chapter. I hope y'all enjoy it too!

The courtyard where the treaty was to be signed was spacious and shaded by an intricately woven covering that hung eight meters above them, allowing in enough light to illuminate the space while still providing ample shelter from the harsh sun. He was seated at a round table near the center of the courtyard across from the senate leader. Around them stood the four Trial Masters and Ambassador Hchun, as well as several recording devices that were currently displaying the ceremony across Ewle and the Federation as they had the day before.

“Today, we rejoice as we join the United Federation of Planets, and we pledge ourselves to uphold the statutes of this alliance and to aid our new family in their times of need,” the senate leader intoned, pen poised above the paper. There was, of course, a digital copy of the treaty which they would also both sign after the ceremony.

“We rejoice!” The Trial Masters and ambassador echoed. Spock had attended many such ceremonies both during his tenure at Starfleet and before at his father’s side, and he had rarely heard a group of people sound more sincere. The Federation had secured a true ally in Ewle. The senate leader signed the document first in Ewlean Standard characters and then in Federation Standard before handing the pen across the table to Spock.

He took it with a deep nod. “The United Federation of Planets gains a new member today, but it also gains an ally. The planet of Ewle brings a number of diverse cultures, beliefs, and skills to the Federation, and we are grateful to count Ewle among our number.” The senate leader’s smile widened slightly, and Spock turned his attention to the document. He signed it, first in  _ Vuhlkansu _ characters and again using the Federation Standard ones.

Then, both he and the senate leader stood, and they bowed to one another, the ceremony complete.

. . .

Jim grinned as he watched Spock speak quietly with the ambassador and senate leader after the conclusion of the ceremony. The audio had been turned off, but it was still fun to watch him mingle with the Ewlean leaders. Spock always insisted that he wasn’t any good at small-talk, and he was right—he never talked about something that didn’t matter, and that drew people to him and held their attention.

Eventually, the video stopped as well, and Jim stood from his bed—he had hoped that if he just stayed in bed for as long as he could he would sleep a little more—and made his way over to his closet. He debated for a moment before pulling out his command golds and heading to the ‘fresher. He was technically on medical leave for the rest of the day still, but that wasn’t going to stop him from meeting Spock and Bones on the transporter pad when they beamed back up soon.

. . .

The Ewlean sun beat down on their heads as Spock and Bones made their way to the transporter beam-up location, escorted by the Trial Masters. The doctor was oddly quiet, but Spock did not question the irregularity aloud, for it would surely result in a cessation of the phenomenon. 

When they reached the place, they exchanged bows with the Trial Masters. “May you find shade wherever you seek it, Representatives,” the Trial Master of Cultivation said.

“May your days be cool and your water plentiful,” Spock replied, nodding deeply. Then, he tapped his communicator. “Two to beam up, Mister Scott.” Golden light surrounded them, and the Ewle disappeared, replaced by the familiar sight of the  _ Enterprise  _ transporter room.

As Spock’s eyes adjusted to the lighting of the room, he froze. Leaning against the transporter console was Jim, a smile on his face. 

“Welcome back, gentlemen,” he greeted, laughter in his voice. “Congratulations on your Trial, Mister Spock, although perhaps the fact that the two of you didn’t kill each other is a larger accomplishment.”

Doctor McCoy grumbled something about it being a narrow thing. Typically Spock would have had a comment on the illogic of congratulations or the fact that he would never harm Doctor McCoy under normal circumstances, but the words died on his tongue as memories came rushing back.

The last time he had seen Jim, he had berated him, doubted him, and undermined his command mere minutes before the man had undergone a likely traumatic event. And here he was, smiling as if all were forgiven. He wanted to speak up and apologize, but he was all too aware of Doctor McCoy and Mister Scott’s presence. Instead, he bowed his head—the action twelve seconds delayed—and stepped off the transporter.

“Are you not on medical leave, Captain?” he asked, clasping his hands behind him in parade rest, a familiar motion that helped to calm his mind.

“I know for a fact that M’Benga put you on leave for two days, Jim, and unless somebody went and changed the clock on me, it hasn’t been forty-eight hours,” Doctor McCoy said to Spock’s left, striding forward and looking over Jim with a critical eye.

Jim laughed and waved the doctor’s attention away. “Easy, Bones. I am on leave. I just figured I would come meet you when you beamed back up. Uhura, Sulu, and Chapel send their regards by the way—they’re actually on duty right now.”

The doctor frowned doubtfully. “You haven’t been on the bridge once?”

Jim grinned slyly, and the doctor spluttered before Jim cut him off with another laugh. “Just once, Bones, and I stayed for less than five minutes. I just wanted to make sure the bridge crew knew I was still alive!”

“I can confirm that, Doctor. The Captain was only up there a minute,” Scotty said from his place behind the console, smiling. “We were mighty glad to see him.”

That seemed to placate the doctor. “Mmm. Well, I want you in Medbay for a check-up before you go on duty tomorrow,” he ordered, and Jim nodded, still smiling. Then McCoy turned. “And don’t you even think about going up to the bridge, Spock. You aren’t cleared for duty yet.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. The doctor had examined him several times following the Trial the day before and had found nothing amiss. He was not surprised by the demand, however, and inclined his head in acceptance. He had learned that it was better, occasionally, to simply allow Doctor McCoy his eccentricities. They were his unique way of expressing his...friendship.

“Can I steal Spock for a few minutes before you submit him to your torturing?” Jim asked, taking a step closer to Spock. “I promise I won’t keep him long.”

Doctor McCoy opened his mouth as if to object, but then he glanced between the two of them and nodded instead. “Fine. Twenty minutes, and then I want you in Medbay.” He stepped past them and left the room, Mister Scott following with a meaningful look of his own that Jim thankfully did not seem to notice.

Spock resisted the urge to shift on his feet. “Is there something you require of me, Captain?” he asked, forcing himself to meet Jim’s warm eyes.

“I’m not on duty, remember, Spock? It’s Jim.”

Spock bowed his head, not quite trusting himself to repeat the name.

“I just wanted to check in with you. I got the report you wrote up, which could have waited a few days, by the way.” He shook his head. His features seemed...fond, but Spock was not certain he trusted his ability to interpret them correctly. “It was perfect, of course, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean, with everything being on the holonet.”

Spock blinked. In the face of his guilt—for that was what it was—over Jim’s Trial, he had pushed the memories of his own to the back of his mind. “What is, is,” he replied, his mind spinning. 

Jim smiled softly. “Of course.” 

They drifted into silence then, simply gazing at each other. Jim opened his mouth once more, but Spock quickly cut him off, the words he had meant to say finally coming forth. “Captain. Jim. I wish to apologize for my actions the day of your Trial.”

It was Jim’s turn to blink now. Recognition dawned across his face a few moments later. “Don’t worry about it, Spock. I know where you were coming from, and it all worked out in the end. No harm done.”

Spock frowned and took a half step forward. “No, Jim. I should not have reacted as I did. You are my superior officer, and questioning you so publicly was an act of insubordination.” He paused for a moment, gazing thoughtfully at Jim—this wonderful man who deserved the universe and more. “Even disregarding our ranks I was at fault. I trust you implicitly and should have acted as such.”

Jim’s hand came up to rest on his upper arm, squeezing gently. Spock froze under the touch, barely resisting the urge to lean into it. Jim’s warmth soaked easily through the material of his uniform: a sun concentrated just above his skin. “Apology accepted, Spock. Your trust means a lot to me, you know. I’m glad to have you at my side.”   
  


Spock bowed his head. “It is an honor to serve with you.” It was an honor to simply orbit his presence. Jim lit the lives of all he interacted with, if only fleetingly, and Spock was party to that warmth nearly constantly. 

The hand on his arm squeezed once more before releasing him. “Well, I should let you go before McCoy decides it’s been too long. I’ll see you on the bridge tomorrow?”

“Indeed.”

Jim nodded, a smile once more on his lips. “Good, good” 

Then he stepped to the side, allowing Spock to pass him. He was nearly out the door when Jim’s voice stopped him again. 

“Oh, Spock?” Spock turned, his eyebrow raised. “I hope you know I trust you the same way.”

“Thank you, Jim.” It was an inadequate response, but it was the only one he was capable of at the moment. Regardless, Jim’s smile widened a little, and Spock was still thinking of the way it seemed to brighten the room seven minutes and thirty-six seconds later as Doctor McCoy ran his tricorder over him.

“So, how’d your lover’s talk go?” the doctor asked as he turned to his PADD to compare Spock’s current readings to his typical ones.

Spock arched an eyebrow. They were thankfully alone in the Medbay—despite his antagonistic attitude, McCoy would never discuss his personal life where others could hear—but that made Spock no more eager to answer the doctor’s question. “It was not a ‘lover’s talk’,” he replied firmly.

The doctor made a disbelieving noise. He then crossed the room to a cabinet where he searched for several moments before retrieving three pre-prepared hyposprays. “You need to talk to him, Spock, and you need to do it soon before something else comes up and drags us into another disaster.”

Spock did not bother to rearticulate the reasons he had refrained from doing so thus far. Instead, he simply gazed at the man as he moved around the room, double checking several charts and medicines as he continued, saying,

“You could wait, maybe. Wait for some big moment when one of you is in danger of dying and spill your guts to him then, but then what? I’d patch you both up at the end of the day and you’d pretend it never happened? Pretend it was the adrenaline or the fatigue or some kind of alien influence? Or maybe one of you actually dies and the other is left with what could have been. No. Talk to him now, when you’re both mostly alright in the head.” McCoy stopped tapping on his PADD and looked up to meet Spock’s eyes. “Don’t waste your time together.”

A retort was on Spock’s lips, but he let it fade away, instead holding the doctor’s gaze for several moments and reading the sincerity there. His words echoed, in many ways, Nyota’s from several days previous. Finally, he nodded infinitesimally. “I will think on your words, Doctor.” 

McCoy huffed. “That’s the best I’m going to get out of you, I suppose. These hyposprays should help you sleep. There’s three days' worth. If you still can’t sleep or meditate deeply enough on your own after three days come see me.”

On another day, Spock might have argued that he had no need for artificial sleeping aids. Today, he silently accepted the hyposprays.

. . .

Jim couldn’t sleep. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but he had hoped that since the  _ Enterprise  _ had left Ewle’s orbit his mind would settle down enough for him to sleep. Spock and Bones were both back safely on board, the treaty was signed, and everyone was happy. That should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

His hallucination of Tarsus had unburied trauma he had thought he had moved past. After years of learning how to cope and live with it, it had become just another part of who he was. An ugly part but one that he could largely ignore. Now, it was back on the surface of his mind, a picture gallery he couldn’t ignore that proudly displayed some of the worst memories of his life in perfect detail, now mixed with the hallucination he had faced and pervaded by a sense of anticipatory dread. Tarsus was over. Rationally, he knew that. He also knew, however, that the second he closed his eyes it would be back, replaying itself in his dreams.

Eventually, he gave up on trying to sleep at all with a heavy sigh. He thought about reviewing reports so that he would at least be doing something productive with his time but quickly remembered that there weren’t any reports to review—he had done them all over the past two days while he had been mostly confined to his room. 

He groaned, his head thunking against the bulkhead behind him. What he needed was a good run, a way to get his body just a little more exhausted than it already was while burning up the nervous energy that twitched in his muscles. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that either. M’Benga and Bones had restricted his access to the gym while his ankle finished healing. It was fine, really, but they were worried he would push himself too hard and injure it again, which was fair considering his track record.

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood, bouncing a little before beginning to wander aimlessly around his room. His feet carried him to the door to the ‘Fresher, and he paused. It was later, which meant that Spock was likely back in his rooms by now. Maybe he could ask his First Officer for a game of chess? The thought was rejected as soon as it had appeared. Just because he kept horrible hours didn’t mean he had the right to keep Spock up. He was probably meditating or sleeping by now.

Meditating…

Jim stood there thinking for a few moments before shrugging and making his way back to his bed where he pulled a pillow off. He plopped it on the floor and sat down, his back against his bed. Once again, he knew the exercise wouldn’t be half as useful as it had been with Spock guiding him, but he let his eyes drift closed, smiling slightly. Spock would get a kick out of learning he had instilled a new habit into him.

. . .

The screen of Spock’s monitor glowed dimly in the darkness of his room as he reread the message his mother had sent him. It was relatively short, especially considering their typical multiple-page correspondence, and yet he had been pondering it for the past twenty minutes and nineteen seconds. 

_ ‘Spock, I watched your Trial on Ewle yesterday and your final negotiations today. You did wonderfully. I must admit, it was odd seeing a double of myself on a planet I’ve never been to—although I would like to visit one day, perhaps with your father—especially considering the nature of the conversation. It reminded me of the one we had just before you applied to the Academy. _

_ ‘That hallucination of yours said many things I have said and thought, as well as I few things I haven’t, but I want you to know that I love you as you are. There are times when I wish you would be more in touch with the human part of you, but I never want that to come at the expense of the person you are.  _

_ ‘I won’t lie—I think your time on the  _ Enterprise _ has helped you find the balance you need. I’m sorry that you couldn’t have found it sooner, but I’m sure you’ll say that apologies are illogical. Still. Hold on to the people you are close to now, my son. They are good people, and I think they understand you more than you might believe.’ _

_ Much love (illogical though it may be), _

_ Your mother _

_ P.S. Give Jim my love! _

The message was, as a whole, close to what he would have expected from his mother. He was not aware that she had intended to watch the Trial or negotiation, nor was he aware of how she had been informed of the events in the first place, but the behavior was not irregular. With the exception of the postscript. 

His mother had never mentioned Jim by name before in her messages, save for one directly following his Pon Farr and Jim’s actions on Vulcan, for which Amanda praised him for several pages. Since then, however, she had only referred to him as ‘your captain’ if she mentioned him at all. Thus, the postscript gave him pause. His mother had often claimed she had an ‘intuition’ when it came to certain things, and while he had frequently discounted it during his youth, his time on the  _ Enterprise _ had given him a greater appreciation for the frequency with which humans correctly determined future events despite the lack of sufficient data to form a hypothesis. 

After a few more moments, he powered the screen off. He would formulate a reply to his mother later after he had had the opportunity to meditate properly on the events of the last several days. Perhaps then he would have an answer to the question she did not ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Jim and Spock are back on their ship together and they're both mostly okay. They're still idiots, mind you, but they're getting there. 
> 
> What did you think of that chapter? Any part that you particularly enjoyed? The absolute flood of comments I've gotten over the past few days between this fic and 'The Best is Yet to Come' have really helped me keep my energy up as I prepare for finals and write my end of term papers, so thank you very much for that!


	13. The Order of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life on the Enterprise returns to normal. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter! We've got some more found family this chapter, which was almost therapeutic to write lol

Spock looked over the lab, a sense of satisfaction pooling in his stomach. He had originally intended to be on the bridge during his shift today, but his scientists had requested his presence as they performed a crucial step in one of the ongoing experiments taking place in the lab. It was not one he had been directly involved in thus far, but he had been reading the reports that were sent to him with interest. They were testing the compatibility of a new alloy for a variety of purposes, including as plating for the  _ Enterprise _ ’s scanners. If it performed as they anticipated, the upgrade would allow the scanners to utilize more power without overloading. It was fascinating research.

Despite his interest in the experiment which was currently being set up, his mind wandered to the bridge where his  _ ashayam  _ now sat. It was Jim’s first shift on duty following his medical leave, and Spock irrationally desired to be by his side and see for himself that the man was well. It was illogical—Jim’s state of being would not be changed by his mere presence, and it was unlikely that he would be needed on the bridge. Following their mission on Ewle, the  _ Enterprise _ had been assigned to explore a class M planet several systems away. It would take them another five days, eighteen hours, and thirty-seven minutes to reach their destination at the current speed, and they were traveling through a section of space that had been mapped previously by Federation ships. 

Still, he had given up on attempting to deny the sense of comfort he received from seeing Jim sitting in his captain’s chair, a grin on his lips and shoulders relaxed. It was simply how the universe was meant to be, and seeing it was a quiet affirmation of correctness. 

“Mr. Spock, we are ready to begin the first stage when you are,” Lieutenant Yahontov stated, drawing Spock from his thoughts. 

He blinked once, clearing his mind then nodded. “Very well, you may proceed, Lieutenant.”

. . .

When he had been at the Academy, people had always told him that eventually he would get tired of seeing stars move across the viewscreen of a starship, but it had been years and the wonder Jim felt at the sight had never dimmed from the first time. He turned to say as much to Spock—it was a slow day on the bridge, and most of the crew was quietly conversing as they worked—only to be met with flaming red hair. Ah, that’s right. Spock was down in the labs today. He had sent Jim a message early that morning requesting permission to allow Ensign Craite to take his place on the bridge. Jim had signed off on it, of course, but he still forgot. It was as if having Spock at his side was a given of the universe and this a strange deviation.

He chuckled to himself at the thought. It wasn’t exactly inaccurate, but it was a little poetic for him. This was what happened when he took too many days off and didn’t get enough sleep.

He let his mind wander for a few minutes, simply soaking up the feeling of being on the bridge. When he had first sat in the captain’s chair, it had been awkward and felt stiff under him. Now, however, it was as natural as breathing. Eventually, he forced himself to focus once more one the present, listening as Uhura talked quietly with Craite, telling her of the Trials.

Spock’s had been the only one broadcasted over the Holonet, but there had been enough witnesses to the others that nearly the entire crew had a general idea of what had happened down on the planet. He had heard no less than seven people congratulate Uhura on her performances, and Chekov and Scotty had both been full of compliments for Sulu over breakfast that morning. It was a good thing to hear. Too often, their away missions were tinged with sorrow regardless of their success. And maybe there were a few crewmembers who had been extra careful around him the past few days, but it was a far cry from the heavy grief that sometimes lay over the ship for weeks following a particularly disastrous trip.

“You should have heard it in person, Ensign,” he said, turning so he was facing the science officer as he cut into the conversation with a smile. “I knew our Lieutenant Uhura was talented, but seeing her firsthand was incredible.”

Uhura smiled. He had already told her as much a number of times when she had come to visit over the past few days, but he couldn’t resist the urge to repeat it in front of an audience. He was blessed with the best officers in the ‘Fleet and he’d be damned if he didn’t take every opportunity he had to remind people of it. 

“Thank you, Captain. I’m just glad I didn’t have to compose anything brand new,” she replied. “Otherwise we might have been there for a few more hours.”

Jim raised an eyebrow in the way he had seen Spock do so many times and turned his gaze to the ensign who stood at Spock’s spot. “Don’t let her fool you, Ensign. She played a Vulcan piece I’d heard Commander Spock perform before but adapted it to fit the situation, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she changed the other songs in the same way. If I had been down there it would have just been several horrible renditions of “Row, row, row your boat”.”

The ensign laughed and Uhura shook her head, sharing a smile with Jim for a moment before turning back to her station. A quiet fell over the bridge for several moments, and then Jim heard Uhura begin to hum. After a few moments, he recognized it as the song she and Spock had collaborated on for the concert several days ago.

He relaxed against his seat, fingers tapping softly on his armrest to the beat of the soft song. Stars above he was glad to be back.

Eventually, their shift ended and their replacements arrived on the bridge. For a moment, Jim considered staying and overseeing the next shift too, but Sulu shot him a look and Jim stood with a laugh. “What, don’t want to see Bones come up here to drag me back to sickbay?” he asked as they piled into the turbolift.

Sulu grinned. “No, sir. Tomorrow we’ll have Mr. Spock back and it’ll finally be the entire crew again—don’t want to ruin it.”

“I second that, captain,” Chekov piped in, and Jim raised his arms in surrender.

“Fair enough. Honestly, I don’t know why Bones worries so much when I’ve got the entire bridge looking after my health.”

That brought a laugh from the crew, and he held the door open as they all filled out and made their way to the mess hall. Most days they went their separate ways after their shift, but it was as if they had reached a silent agreement to spend just a little longer together. 

Before long they had all grabbed their food and taken their places around one of the longer tables. A few minutes later, the door opened and Scotty joined them, uniform sleeve stained with some kind of grease and a wide grin on his face. 

Jim ate quietly, soaking up the feeling of being surrounded by his friends as they talked.

“Your sound system worked pretty well last time, Pavel, but do you think we could link up some video too and broadcast it to other rec rooms across the ship?” Uhura was asking as she waited for her soup to cool.

Chekov quickly swallowed down the bite of sandwich he was chewing and nodded excitedly. “It should be simple, especially if I can get Scotty’s help.”

The engineer turned at the sound of his name. “You want to do what, lad?”

“Link the audio and video from the rec room we used for the last concert to the others,” Uhura answered for him. “A lot of other crew members have said they want to attend the next one, and we won’t have space to fit them all.”

Scotty nodded slowly. “Aye, we can manage that. When’s the next concert going to be?”

“Well, if the captain approves it, next Tuesday evening. Six people from the communications department asked if they could do the next set of performances.”

“I think that will work,” Jim said, speaking for the first time since they had sat down. “Send me the paperwork, and I’ll sign off on everything tonight.” 

Uhura smiled. “Thank you, Captain, I will.”

The conversation turned to the specifics of the next concert—who was performing, where they were from, what shift they worked, and how they were going to arrange outfits—for several minutes. Then, Uhura said something about meeting up with Nurse Chapel to discuss refreshments, and Sulu broke in.

“Speaking of Christine, how long have you two been together?” he asked, leaning across the table to meet Uhura’s eyes. “I didn’t know anything about it until we were on Ewle.”

“That is because you are blind, Hikaru,” Chekov interjected before Uhura could respond. “They have been dating for at least two months.”

“Three and a half, actually,” Uhura replied, smiling, and Jim whistled. He had thought two and a half at the most. “We had decided to keep it quiet for awhile, and then there was that mission on Greaon VII that happened a few days later. After that, we decided to go slow and make sure we could both make our relationship work while still giving all we could to the  _ Enterprise _ .”

“And?” Scotty asked, a playful smile pulling at his lips. They all knew that if anyone could make a relationship work out here it would be Uhura.

“Well, we went on a lovely date last night, so I’d say we’re doing pretty well,” she laughed. Chekov wiggled his eyebrows, earning him a jab in the ribs from Sulu. “And before you ask—yes, she is a wonderful kisser.”

The table erupted into happy laughter, and Jim felt something in his chest warm. He hadn’t slept well last evening, but sitting here now was almost as invigorating as a full eight hours would have been. 

“What about you, Captain?” Chekov asked once the laughter had quieted.

Jim frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Did you catch any eyes while you were down on Ewle?”

“I was a little bit busy, Ensign,” Jim responded dryly. “Besides, other than the feasts each evening, we were mostly isolated.”

Chekov didn’t look convinced. Did Jim really have that much of a reputation? Sure, he had deserved it in the past, but he hadn’t had a relationship with anyone—fling or otherwise—in over six months. Thankfully, Uhura saved him from having to defend himself by standing.

“I’ve got to go. I promised I’d meet Mister Spock after he was finished in the labs,” she said. “Hikaru, does 19:30 work for this evening?”

“That’s fine, Nyota.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you all later.”

. . .

Spock moved with ease as he inputted the proper codes into his personal replicator for the tea he and Nyota preferred. They had decided to meet for tea in his room in order to catch one another up on recent events. It was something they frequently did whenever they had been separated for missions as they had been recently. Once, Spock had found it unnecessary and awkward to relate details that Nyota likely already knew or had access to, but over time he had come to look forward to the discussions. She was a woman of great enthusiasm and clarity and often provided an outlook that he had not considered himself.

Two minutes and six seconds after Spock had finished preparing the tea there was a knock on the door. “Come,” he called, and it slid open to reveal Nyota, a soft smile on her face. She walked in without needing him to invite her further and took her seat across the table from him, thanking him as she took her cup.

For a few moments, they sipped in silence, a comfortable quiet settling over them. Then, Nyota put her cup down and said, “The captain said he’ll approve the concert for next Tuesday, and Pavel and Scotty are taking care of the audio and video.”

Spock nodded. He had been ninety-eight point seven-two percent certain that Jim would agree to the concert considering his previous enjoyment of the practice and the positive impact it had had on the crew. “Should you require any additional assistance, Nyota, I am available to help you.”

“Thank you, Spock, but Christine and I have it handled. The only thing we might have trouble with is the traditional apparel for a few of the performers who didn’t bring anything from home,” she replied. “I’m going to check with the quartermaster and see if they can program the replicators to get something that’s close to the originals.”

“And you will be hosting, I presume?”

“That’s the plan. Christine will help out with anything that needs to be done behind stage, and I’ll introduce the performers and such. Assuming we aren’t interrupted like last time, it should all go smoothly.”

Spock took a sip from his tea before saying, “Jim regretted the interruption. He was looking forward to seeing the remaining performances and learning more of the cultures they come from.”

Nyota’s eyes softened fondly. “I know. I’m glad he’s letting us do this. You know, being on Ewle made me think more about how important our backgrounds are to all of us. Most of the trials had something to do with Ewle’s history and our own. There wasn’t one without the other.” She gazed thoughtfully at her tea. “It made me think about how it’s impossible to remove ourselves and our experiences from a situation. We might be representatives of the Federation and do all we can to represent everyone, but we can’t eliminate the influence our heritage has on us…” She trailed away, eventually looking back up with a contemplative smile. “I suppose you know plenty about that.”

“I am in a...unique position to understand the concept you describe,” Spock admitted. “As I believe my Trial showed. There was a time when I would have disagreed with you and said that I need only acknowledge one half of my heritage, but I have since come to realize that to be an illogical belief. Even in choosing to embrace one side of my lineage over another I am acknowledging the influence of both.”

Nyota nodded slowly, leaning back in her chair. The light of the room shone through her dark hair, lighting it as if from within. “How was that, by the way, the Trial? I was on duty for most of it, but Christine gave me the highlights.” 

Although Nyota did not say it, the slight crease in her brow conveyed her concern. It was appreciated but largely unnecessary. “I will not deny that I would have preferred a more private event, but the Trial was successful and I cannot regret that.”

“ _ Kaiidth _ . What is, is,” Nyota murmured, and Spock inclined his head. Nyota rarely required much explanation of his thought process, a trait he greatly appreciated.

“A matter that you would consider of interest did occur after the Trial,” he said after a moment of internal debate. He frequently shared the contents of his correspondence with his mother with Nyota, and the two women had been in touch several times over the past few years.

“Did Bones go off on you or something?”

Spock blinked. “I would not define the conversation we had as ‘going off’ on me, but it was not that discussion to which I referred. I received a message from my mother regarding the Trial.”

Nyota’s eyes widened in interest. “What did your mother say? I didn’t think she would have watched it, although I supposed that’s a little foolish of me. Any mother would be proud to see her son take part in something as significant as the Trials.”

“She stated that it was...unnerving to see a replica of herself speak with me. They did not share all of the same ideas, but there were many which were similar.” Nyota nodded as if she had expected such a response. “She also stated that she was glad I had achieved a greater balance between my dual heritages and credited my time aboard the  _ Enterprise _ with the development. She admonished me to hold onto my friendships here.

“However, it was her postscript that was outside of the realm of her usual comments and drew my attention.” Nyota raised an eyebrow. “She requested that I ‘send her love’ to Jim.”

A wide smile broke across Nyota’s face, one Spock did not fully understand the source of. “Have you ever heard of a woman’s intuition, Spock?” she asked, chuckling quietly.

“My mother attributed it to many successes in her life, and although I could not see the logic in doing so I also could not argue with the results she received by following it,” he answered slowly. It seemed Nyota would confirm his suspicions about his mother’s intentions.

“Well, I think your mother’s intuition is at work right now. She knows you’re in love with Jim, and I bet she thinks you two are already dating or close to it at least.”

Spock blinked, his mind spinning but producing no words of value with which he could articulate the myriad of emotions that Nyota’s statement caused to rise to the forefront of his mind. Eventually, he managed, “I do not see how she could come to such a conclusion.” It was a painfully truthful statement.

Nyota’s smile softened. “She’s your mother, Spock. She knows you better than you might think, and she’s met Jim. Remember, she saw you two together on the way to Babel.”

“I did not know the extent of my feelings toward Jim at the time of the conference,” he protested, fingers tightening around his cup.

“Not consciously, maybe, but there’s a reason the main officers have a bet on when you two will figure things out. The chemistry’s been there for a long time, Spock.”

Spock’s first instinct was to ask about the details of the bet that Nyota had mentioned, but he pushed the thought aside as insignificant. “As I explained to Doctor McCoy when we were on Ewle, I do not believe that Jim feels anything toward me that would be conducive to the formation of a romantic relationship between us. I do not fit the typical pattern of his preferred partners, nor am I seeking a short-term source of pleasure. My mother should know this already.”

Nyota shook her head, sympathy in her eyes. “I told you before that I thought you two were a good match, and I was serious. If you’re worried about Jim not being attracted to men, you shouldn’t be. He dated more than a few guys at the Academy from what I’ve heard.”

Spock opened his mouth and quickly closed it again, the information freezing him in place for a moment before he shook his head. “I could not offer him the emotional security that a human partner could, Nyota. He deserves someone who can meet his needs, and I do not believe that I would be capable of doing so.”

“Like I said before, it’s your life, Spock.” She leaned forward, capturing his eyes with her intense gaze before continuing. “But you won’t know that the two of you are incompatible if you don’t try. Do you think Jim is the kind of person to let a friendship sour because a romantic relationship didn’t work out? He isn’t. You have to figure out what you have to lose, and you have to decide if that really outweighs everything you have to gain.”

He started to reply but was cut off by a quiet ding from the PADD that sat beside him on the floor. Nyota waved her hand, face still thoughtful, and so he retrieved it. A message blinked on the screen. It was from Jim.

_ ‘Chess in my quarters tonight? 22:00?’ _

“Jim has invited me to chess this evening,” he reported to Nyota, knowing the woman was curious but would not pry on her own. 

“And you’re accepting, right?”

“I am,” he answered, typing up an affirmative reply and clicking send.

A quiet laugh slipped from Nyota’s lips. “The two of you are practically dating already, you know?” Her tone framed the question as rhetorical, and so Spock took a sip of his tea—it was nearly lukewarm now—instead of replying. 

After a few moments of silence, Nyota changed the topic and began to discuss an upcoming language conference she was helping to write a paper for. The subject was fascinating, and Nyota was engaging as she spoke. A portion of his attention, however, remained centered on Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! What did you think of this one?
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments and for reading this far! I really appreciate the support!


	14. Ashayam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Jim play chess and the author is too fond of circular narratives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter. Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy the ending to this little story!

Jim bounced from foot to foot as he waited for the door to the gym to recognize his code and open. Bones had finally decided his ankle was healed enough for him to work out as long he promised not to do anything too strenuous and to see him if anything started hurting.

The door slid open, and he stepped inside, smiling. A couple of crew members who were working out on the mats looked up as he entered and waved hello. He waved back and took a spot on one of the empty mats and began going through his typical warm-up and stretch routine. Two different crew members stepped over to welcome him back, and he felt warmth bloom in his chest. 

When he had been in the Academy and gunning for captain one day a number of professors had warned him that crew members would try to cozy up to him and flatter him in order to earn themselves better positions and promotions. And while it had happened a few times, those incidents had been few and far between. No, his crew actually cared about him and about one another, and Jim couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

Once he was warmed up he jogged over to the track and settled into an easy run. As one lap turned into two and three and four, the universe seemed to fall back into place. Mostly. As he ran, his mind sifted through the day and settled into a pleasant hum, marred only by a quiet sense of not-quite-right. He focused in on that feeling as he rounded another corner, barely feeling the burn in his legs.

Everything had gone perfectly today, so why did something still feel wrong? At first, he thought it might be Tarsus and the poison those memories tended to seep into his mind, but no. Those feelings would likely return tonight for a time, but here in the brightness and grounding sensation of his feet against the floor they held no sway over him.

So what was it?

He went around the track once more before he found an answer. Spock. He hadn’t seen Spock at all today. For a moment, a sense of self-consciousness fell over him—was he really so dependent on Spock that not having his First Officer at his side affected him this way? But the feeling quickly faded. Spock was more than just his First Officer. They were friends, and they relied on one another. That’s simply how things were.

Well, the feeling would disappear soon enough. He had invited Spock to play chess tonight, and he had replied in the affirmative almost immediately. It had been several days since they had last been able to play, and Jim was looking forward to a mental workout to accompany his physical one. He never had to worry about his senses becoming dull with Spock to challenge him. 

His thoughts drifted into remembrance of their last few games and a potential strategy for tonight. Eventually, the burning in his muscles became too powerful for him to push aside, and he slowed to a jog, then a walk, and then came to a stop, moving back to the mat he had used earlier for a few post-run stretches. When he had finished he left the gym, whistling softly to himself as he made his way back to his rooms. He would need to wash up and eat something before Spock arrived.

. . .

Jim’s rooms were comfortably warm when Spock stepped inside. Although he had told Jim several times that he did not need to go out of his way to ensure Spock’s comfort, the man continued to do so. After a moment of hesitation, Spock took his typical seat. Jim was not in the room currently, although he could hear movement coming from their shared ‘fresher. 

Not long after, the door slid open and Jim stepped through, his hair slightly damp from the shower he had evidently recently finished. He had changed into lounge clothes, a long-sleeved grey shirt and black sweatpants that made Spock wonder if he too should have changed. 

“Sorry I’m a little late, Spock,” Jim said, smiling at him as he crossed the room. “I lost track of time at the gym.”

“There is no need for apologies, Jim. Have you eaten, or would you prefer to delay our game?”

Jim waved a hand, plopping into his chair. “Nah, I ate before I showered. Turns out my body is more than happy to return to three meals a day.”

Spock nodded and began to set up the chessboard that sat between them. “The eating habits of the Ewlean were not included in any of the briefings we received. I made note of the lack of information in my report.”

“I saw, and I’m glad you did. It’s a small thing, missing a meal, but there are plenty of people that could seriously impact,” Jim said, arranging the black pieces on his side of the chessboard. “No harm done to us, though. Your turn to play white, Mister Spock.”

He considered the board for several moments, trying to decide on his opening gambit. Eventually, he moved a pawn forward and turned his attention to Jim. He had wished to be on the bridge with the man today, but looking at him now it seemed as if the day had been kind to him. The tension that so often sat in his shoulders was all but gone, and his gaze was relaxed as he examined the board. It was a pleasant change from the stress that had plagued the man throughout their mission on Ewle. 

“How did your experiment down in the labs go?” Jim asked as he moved his own pawn forward, breaking Spock from his thoughts.

“The first stage of tests on the alloy have proven more successful than originally anticipated,” he answered. “The experiment will be repeated several times over the next four days and the resulting data will be compiled and analyzed before being sent to the Starfleet research division. More extensive testing will then occur at a planet-bound research center.”

Jim nodded, and Spock felt his eyes on him as he moved another pawn. “This is the alloy you were hoping would be able to enhance the sensor power input capabilities, right?”

“Indeed. Should Starfleet verify our results and obtain a significant quantity of the alloy, all starships will be equipped with the improved sensors within two years.” He met Jim’s eyes and saw the man smiling fondly.

“Sometimes, Spock, I wonder why you decided to sign on with an exploratory vessel instead of a primarily scientific one,” he mused, fingers turning the knight he was planning on using over in his hand. “You’ve done an incredible job as Chief Science Officer—I don’t say that enough.”

Spock carefully regulated the rush of blood that threatened to stain his cheeks. “Your praise is unnecessary, Jim,” he said, eyes flicking down to where the man was now moving his knight up a level. “I have remained aboard the  _ Enterprise _ because I am more than satisfied with my position here and the opportunities it affords me. There will be time enough for additional experiments later in my life.”

Jim’s only reply to that was a widened smile and a nod at the chessboard. Spock considered it for a few moments before moving his pawn forward. It was the beginning of a trap he intended to build for one of Jim’s rooks, although such plans rarely proceeded as he expected when they played. 

“Have you been resting well?” Spock asked after seven minutes and thirty seconds of silent gameplay passed between them. He did not feel the need to disturb the silence—he rarely did with Jim—but the question had been sitting in his mind for some time.

Jim’s eyes turned reflective as he nudged his rook forward. “Honestly, no, but I expected that. Your meditation techniques have been helpful though—I’ve gotten a few more hours each night than I used to when my brain was like this.”

Concern and sorrow raced through Spock’s mind, and he let himself feel both emotions in their fullness. It was painful to know that the radiant man across from him was suffering, but the knowledge that he had been able to help in some small way was a balm to the ache. “If you desire for me to instruct you further, I am available to assist you whenever you require,” he said, hoping that Jim could hear the honesty in his words. He would never turn the man away, regardless of the hour.

“Thank you, Spock. We’ll see how the next few days go, and then I might take you up on that.”

Spock nodded and turned his attention back to the board, studying it for several moments before moving his knight to claim Jim’s rook. Jim chuckled quietly and shook his head as Spock removed the piece from the board.

“I should have seen that one. If I lose this match, I’m blaming it on the fact that we haven’t played in a while,” he declared, and the lighting of the room made his eyes seem as if they glowed with the gentle light of twin suns.

Spock merely inclined his head in response, which caused Jim’s grin to widen. The man shook his head with another chuckle and picked up his other rook. He reached up to move it to the highest level of the board, and when he did so the sleeve of his shirt pulled up, revealing a number of cuts on his arm. They were mostly scabbed over, but the skin around them was an angry red still.

His breath caught in his throat, memories of Jim standing alone in the center of a gravel arena flashing in front of his eyes. Jim must have seen where his gaze had traveled, for he quickly pulled his sleeve back down. “I should have bandaged them after my shower, but they’re fine, really,” he assured.

Spock’s eyes didn’t leave the sleeve. Concern, guilt, anger, uncertainty, fear, and a dozen other emotions he could not even begin to name swept over him, pulling his mind into a roiling sea where the only clear thought was of Jim. He reached out to take the man’s arm into his hands but froze halfway across the board. 

“ _ Ashayam.” _ The word, laden with the emotions, slipped out on a breath, hanging in the air between them.

. . .

Jim was frozen to his chair, eyes wide as his mind scrambled at warp seven. Every other time Spock had called him that they had been arguing and on duty. He had just assumed that it meant ‘captain’ and decided to ignore it so as not to bring his friend any further embarrassment, but now he thought his assumption might be wrong.

The dim lighting of Jim’s rooms threw Spock’s features into sharp relief, and Jim didn’t have to look hard to see the emotions written there. It was obvious Spock was worried about him, but there was something deeper there too. Something...softer.

He swallowed, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. Did Spock…? Could he...? Were they…? He swallowed again, forcing down the lump in his throat. He was a starship captain! He wasn’t going to back out of this, not when it was Spock—Spock who had always stood by his side, Spock who had never judged him, Spock who looked at him now with his entire soul visible in his eyes.

“That’s the third time you’ve called me that,” he said, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. “At first I thought it meant ‘captain’, but now…” Spock’s eyes closed briefly, and Jim felt something flutter in his chest.

. . .

When Spock opened his eyes again, he was determined to see this through. Perhaps Nyota would be correct, perhaps she would not be, but he could not continue in silence any longer. He had never been able to deny Jim anything, and the question he had not asked was heavy in the air. It would not be ignored.

He placed his hands palm down on the table next to the board and Jim—who had always been so intuitive when it came to Spock—covered them with his own, his shirt sleeve once again slipping upward. While not entirely proper, it was not an obscene gesture, and it would allow Spock to project the emotions he knew he would have difficulty putting into words.

Raising his head, Spock met Jim’s eyes and saw a universe there. “ _ Ashayam _ means ‘beloved’ in the tongue of my people,” he whispered, opening his shields to allow that same love to flow to Jim through their hands. The man gasped quietly, eyes widening, and Spock carefully extracted his hands, cutting off the link.

“This does not need to impact our current friendship,” he explained, eyes now fixed on one of the black knights on the board. “I will continue to exercise control over my emotions and will devote more time to strengthening my shields. I do not intend to—”

“Stop, Spock, just stop,” Jim said, and Spock shut his mouth immediately. When the silence lingered, he looked up and was met with the sight of Jim’s brow furrowed in thought, eyes confused.

The sight caused something painful to lance through Spock’s side. He should not have spoken. He was not the one to boldly leap without looking, regardless of what Doctor McCoy believed awaited him. Nyota had been earnest but misguided, and he should have seen that before speaking. The depth and truth of his own emotions had no bearing on whether Jim shared them. If he had stopped to consider the consequences of his actions—

His spiraling thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of laughter. He looked up, startled, and saw the frown on Jim’s face had been replaced with a wide smile, eyes now full of mirth. Spock frowned, uncertain. Was this laughter directed at him? He did not believe Jim to be the type of man to mock him for his feelings even if they were unrequited, but perhaps…

Jim must have seen the fear and uncertainty in his expression for he quickly sobered. He reached back across the table, and Spock allowed his hands to be taken, enveloped by Jim’s warmth, although he kept tight control over his shields.

“I’m not laughing at you, Spock,” Jim declared, voice solemn. Despite himself, Spock believed him. How could he not? “I’m laughing at myself. I’ve always known you were important to me—more important than most people in my life—but I’d never thought to call it love. Now, though, I realize that’s exactly what this feeling is.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “I’ve only ever fallen in love hard and fast, not gradually like this, so I didn’t recognize it. No wonder Bones has been giving me looks every time I call you my friend!”

Something akin to hope flickered in Spock’s mind, but he smothered the flame. He would not allow it to color his judgment now. “Jim, do not allow my words to have an undue impact on yourself. If the depth of my affection for you is not returned, you need not pretend otherwise. I would not have you unhappy because of me.”

Jim’s smile quickly morphed into a creased frown. “Can’t you feel that I’m telling the truth?” he asked, glancing down at where their hands met.

“I am shielding myself from your emotions,” Spock replied carefully. The hope was returning, and he cautiously allowed it to while simultaneously preparing himself for the rejection that would likely come.

“Don’t,” Jim urged, warm eyes capturing his own. “I know what I’m doing, Spock. There’s nothing in my mind I don’t want you to see.”

Spock swallowed and then slowly lowered the shields he had erected. For a moment, there was nothing, and then Jim’s emotions slammed into him in a wall of mental force, as strong and vibrant as the man across from him was. It took Spock several moments to identify the emotions in any detail beyond their immense strength, but when he did his eyes widened. Jim had not attempted to filter his emotions and so a myriad of them now swam in Spock’s mind, but the brightest among them was love, strong and deep.

How? How could this man love him like this? What had he done to deserve such devotion from one such as he? 

Jim gently pulled his hands away, and the overwhelming connection disappeared, leaving Spock with a gaping hole in his mind. His eyes refocused on Jim to find the man standing from his chair. He followed him with his gaze as he moved around the small table and stopped a hair’s breadth from Spock’s own seat. His presence was nearly overwhelming and yet Spock wanted, needed more of it.

“I would like to kiss you if that’s okay,” Jim whispered into the air between them, bending down. Spock could only nod his acceptance, his mind too overwhelmed to form words with any semblance of coherency. 

A smile pulled at Jim’s lips and then he closed the distance between them, one hand coming up to Spock’s chin and tilting it so that when their lips met it was at the perfect angle. Jim’s lips moved against his own, and Spock poured all of his love into his response, mind awash with the light of Jim’s emotions.

Spock broke their kiss to stand and then quickly resumed it once they were level with one another, drinking in the feeling of Jim’s lips against his. His arms came up and wrapped around Jim—one on his hip and the other across his shoulder blades—pulling him closer. Jim laughed softly, one of his own hands moving up to Spock’s hair and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

Eventually—after the universe passed away and was reborn again and the stars died only to spawn an even brighter generation—Jim pulled away, breathless. He leaned his head against Spock’s, his arms sliding down to encircle his waist.

“Now do you believe me?” he asked once he had caught his breath. Spock could hear the smile in his voice and did not try to stop his own from forming as he replied,

“I do,  _ ashayam. _ ”

Jim hummed at the word. “Say it again.”

Something in Spock’s mind leapt at the quietly murmured request. “I cherish thee,  _ ashayam,” _ he whispered against Jim’s lips, and it was as if a dam in his mind broke.  _ "T’nash-veh masu _ —my water in the desert.  _ T’nash-veh rau-nol _ —my refuge from the storm. I love thee, Jim, and even if I said as much in every language I know it would not be enough to capture the depth of my affection toward you.”

Jim’s answering love shone brightly in his mind as the man laughed, the sound breathless and vibrant. “I love you too, Spock. One day, you’re going to have to teach me how to say that in your own language.”

Spock closed the scant distance between their lips once more in an achingly slow, tender kiss that held the promise of a lifetime to do whatever they pleased together. When he pulled away, Jim’s lips were wet and a beautifully exotic shade of red that made Spock want to capture them again. Instead, he placed a quick kiss to the corner of Jim’s mouth and pulled back, resting their foreheads together once again.

“Of course,  _ t’hy’la _ . There will be time for that,” he promised.

Jim sighed against his lips. “I like that one. It feels like us.”

Spock smiled softly. “It is.”

They met in another kiss, and the universe fell away until it was the two of them with an infinite future stretching before them at one another’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And scene! What did you think? Favorite parts? Least favorite? I love hearing from people after I finish a story.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me over the past two months. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. LLAP!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you noticed any glaring mistakes, please let me know (this story is not beta'd) and I'll fix it if it's important enough.  
> I live for comments, so if you could take a moment to let me know what you think it would mean the world! Stay safe, my friends!


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